


in a galaxy (studio) (not so) far far away

by probably_somewhere



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: AU, Agender Pidge | Katie Holt, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), F/M, Gay Keith (Voltron), M/M, Polynesian Hunk (Voltron), Slow Burn, and they get into lots of shenanigans, forgot that one lol, idk man, its the kind of au where they're actors in a show, klance, live action au, lots of content warnings in the chapter descriptions, pidge is a memelord, shallura - Freeform, tv show au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-08-27 03:15:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8385097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/probably_somewhere/pseuds/probably_somewhere
Summary: In which Voltron Legendary Defender is a TV show filmed with actors and a real-life television set. As the summer's Next Big Thing™, the cast and crew of Voltron have a big job to do, and the odds seem stacked against them. With an asshole director, off-screen romance, identity crises, and the inevitable dredging up of the past, it almost makes them wonder--what could possibly come at them next?





	1. The Rise of Voltron

The three of them burst into the tent, panting from the run across the desert. Inside, instruments and computers litter the edges of the space, and guards lay knocked out next to them. At the center is a metal table and two figures, the smaller of whom is trying--and _failing_ \--to support the other’s weight on his own.

Lance crosses to the pair in two steps.

“No, you--no, no no,” he says, jamming one shoulder into Shiro’s armpit and taking part of the unconscious man’s weight. “No you don’t. _I’m_ saving Shiro.”

Keith looks over, and he has to duck a little to see Lance around Shiro’s bowed head. A thick piece of black hair falls into his eyes. “Who are you?”

Lance stutters in indignation but smooths it out into his usual suave tone. “Who am I? The name’s Lance.”

Nothing. If anything, the other cadet’s scowl deepens.

“We were in the same class at the Garrison,” he prompts.

There, maybe--a flicker of recognition. “Really? Are you an engineer?”

Lance tries to smother the disappointment he feels. He looks over to Pidge and Hunk, pleading, and they only shrug. “No, I’m a pilot! We were, like, rivals. You know, Lance and Keith, neck and neck--”

When he looks over to Keith again, the man’s lips are pressed into a hard line as fights laughter and loses.

A strangled chuckle breaks everyone’s focus, and then even Shiro, who is supposed to be _unconscious_ , is smiling.

“Cut!” the director shouts, and they all pause for only a moment before adopting casual standing positions. Lance rolls his shoulders and mentally prepares himself for another take. Shiro is _heavy_ , dammit.

“I’m sorry, but your face was too perfect there,” Keith explains. He fidgets with the fingerless gloves the costume department decided were a good idea. “I’ll keep a straight face next time, I swear.”

“You’d better,” the director growls. This is the first time Lance has worked with the guy--Arthur Cross, famous TV actor-and-director--and after one day of filming he already wishes he’d gone his whole life without the experience. “We don’t have time to waste on this scene. Any more takes and everyone’s call time is shifted up an hour for tomorrow. Places!”

Lance ducks out of the way so that Shiro can climb back on the table, and Keith can lift him back off of it. He joins back up with Hunk and Pidge--or, Katie, really, but his character doesn’t know that yet--and they take their places just off set. Lance jumps a few times and wiggles around, both to keep himself loose and energized and to make sure he’s properly out of breath for the start of the scene.

“If mullet can keep a straight face this time,” he says. “We’re golden.”

“Mullet?” Pidge asks quietly, knees bent and ready to run on set.

“It’s something Lance McClain would say. I’m in _character_.”

“Oh, so you’re a method actor.”

“From the top of my head to the tips of my toes,” he sings.

Hunk’s small laugh cuts off the moment Cross calls out, “Action!”

___

Katie snags her backpack from its hiding place underneath a chair. She hasn’t had time to get on her laptop at all today, but there’s no way she would leave it at home either, or even in her trailer. Besides, this gives her an excuse to peruse the snack table before the end of the day.

It’s behind and to the left of the main set, and even this late at night the coffee machine sits ready for use. The assistants--interns? Employees?--who are in charge of the table must be off on other duties, because no one is nearby. Katie picks a dark roast K-cup and sets the machine to brew it. While she waits, one of her co-cast members sidles up next to her. He has a weird name--Hunk--and a bit of an accent when he’s not acting. Hawaiian, she remembers him saying during introductions.

“Coffee this late?” he asks.

She nods. “Coffee always.”

“Hardcore.” There’s a moment of silence, and Katie lets it be filled by the sound and smell of brewing coffee. “Um--I’m a big fan of your work, by the way.”

Katie heaves out a sigh. “Thanks, but _Katie’s Corner_ was a grade ‘A’ piece of shit. You don’t have to pretend you liked it to save my ego.”

Hunk raises his eyebrows. “As far as Disney Channel shows go? It wasn’t that bad. And mostly I’m impressed that you were able to carry a show for four years before the age of fifteen. That takes skill.”

“Or a stubborn agent,” she mutters, then backtracks. No reason to scare off the new guy--apparently this is his first real gig. She removes the paper cup from underneath the coffee machine and eyes a brownie on the snack table. “But like I said, thanks. I’m happy to be working on Voltron now instead of my old show, though. I hope we get a few seasons out of it.”

“Me too. Hey, um… I have a question for you.”

“Yeah?” Katie’s hand passes over the brownie and closes on a packet of carrots instead. Old habits die hard.

“Does the makeup crew take _off_ our makeup too? Or do we do it ourselves?”

Katie cracks a smile at Hunk’s genuine look of concern. Wow, he really is new.

“At least one of the interns usually sticks around to set up the stuff for tomorrow, so if you don’t want to do it yourself you can ask them. Otherwise, there’s a bunch of remover wipes in your trailer or you can wait until you get home. It’s up to you.”

Hunk nods his appreciation. “Right. Thanks. I’m--I haven’t done this before, and I don’t want to mess it up, you know? Cross already doesn’t like me.”

“He doesn’t like anyone. I have no idea how he’s still employed--there are directors out there who can make shows just as good without making anyone cry.”

Hunk looks stricken. “He makes people cry?”

Katie shrugs and bites into a carrot. “Maybe. I haven’t worked with him before, but the Hollywood rumor mill is strong,” she says mysteriously, and waves her fingers around. She offers Hunk a carrot, which he accepts, and then bids him goodnight and heads back to her trailer.

She flips the light on inside, illuminating the space. It’s actually smaller than her trailer on her old set, but without the multitudes of pink decorations that she never wanted, it feels bigger. Better. More like Katie, because she gets to choose what she puts in it. So far it’s evidence of her recent interest in technology--the same one that led her to audition for the role of Pidge.

The character had originally been written for a boy, but a combination of Katie’s fame, a persistent agent, and maybe even her acting skills had landed her a spot in _Voltron Legendary Defender_. Early critics say it’s going to be the summer’s next big hit--the internet is already buzzing with excitement and pirated gifs of the trial pilot episode--and Katie wants to believe it. The sooner she can leave all memory of _Katie’s Corner_ behind, the better.

She changes out of her costume quickly and hangs it up on the rack to be cleaned, and then pulls the laptop out of her bag and opens it. The internet here is better than at home, and she prefers to do her blogging from the set. The tumblr tab opens quickly, and Katie logs onto one of her accounts.

Her dash is relatively empty, because there aren’t many Voltron blogs out there to follow--yet--but she doesn’t waste time scrolling through it. She has work to do, and has to be careful about doing it. Running an anonymous blog about the TV show for which she’s part of the cast isn’t an easy task. She has to get out the good gossip to the fandom without being discovered. Most people will assume she’s someone in the crew.

Katie types out a few choice happenings of the day--a new scene will appear in the official pilot episode, and somehow Shiro’s costume got even _tighter_ \--and updates the Countdown to Voltron post before shutting her laptop, downing the rest of her coffee, and heading home. She would like to stay later, but her parents will worry if she’s not home soon.

The car is already waiting for her outside.

___

Filming “on location”, it turns out, involves showing up at the studio really early and carpooling with the rest of the cast and crew to the middle of a desert. By the time they get there, the sun is up and Hunk is already sweating.

It doesn’t help that he’s nervous.

How can Lance be so casual about this? Sure, he’s spent most of his teenage life in the industry, but it’s like he’s not even phased by the idea that whatever he does on screen will be out there for the world to see. This is what Hunk wanted, it’s always been what he wanted, but now that he’s really here--it’s scarier than ever. He would have never made it through that audition the show if Lance hadn’t decided they were friends. He suspects that he wouldn’t have gotten the part without Lance’s help, either, but he doesn’t know how to ask.

A crew member hands Hunk a towel from a cooler and says, “Dab, don't wipe. It'll mess up your makeup.”

Hunk looks down at the towel and realizes it's for the sweat that threatens to drip down his face. “Uh--thanks.”

The girl--probably about Hunk’s age, with short hair colored by fading purple dye--grins at him while wiping the moisture from her own face with the back of her hand. “Actors aren’t allowed to sweat. You have to look perfect for every take, and I have it on good authority from the makeup department that they don’t actually _like_ redoing your makeup five times a day. So you all get nice, cool towels.” She scans the area momentarily. “Hey, Lance! Towel!”

Hunk’s cast member turns from where he’s been looking at the vast desert around them and walks toward them. He takes the towel and wraps it around his neck. “Thanks, Sophie.”

She aims a finger gun at him with the hand that’s not carrying a cooler. “No problem. Now I gotta go deliver these to the rest of the cast. See ya.”

Lance waves to her as she leaves, and then looks over at Hunk. “Sophie worked on my last movie with me--but back then, she was, like, an assistant’s assistant. Now she’s a real intern. And she’s from Hawaii, too.”

Hunk pauses in his sweat-dabbing. “Really? Which island?”

“Sorry, bro, but I have no idea.”

“I didn’t really expect you to.” Hunk squints up at the sun. It’s hot in a way he’s not used to. “It’s fine.”

One of the head crew members calls for everyone to meet at the north end of their setup, where all the vehicles are parked. Apparently there are some revisions to the filming schedule.

Their director stands at the head of the group, with the show’s head writer at his side. Robert Thomas is the guy’s name--Hunk knows because it’s at the top of every copy of the script--but right now he’s in costume, because apparently writing yourself into a show is a thing that people can do. Commander Iverson is a small character, but somehow the association of him with the writer makes Hunk automatically not like the guy. But--really--who the heck decided that the guy should have an eyepatch? An _eyepatch_. Good guys don’t wear eyepatches, and good guys don’t write their characters with eyepatches, either.

Someone’s coming around and handing out copies of the new schedule, and the director’s saying something, but Lance chatters quietly in his ear and he can’t focus.

“Look at Keith over there. He’s not even sweating a _little_.”

“Hmm.” Hunk looks over at the actor and, sure enough, he looks entirely unfazed by the heat. He’s in a simple tank top and athletic shorts because the costume team hasn’t gotten to him yet, and if it weren’t for the fact that they were in the middle of a desert to film a TV show, Hunk might almost mistake him for a normal guy.

“I wonder what it would take to make him sweat,” Lance continues. “He’d look hot covered in sweat.”

Hunk blinks and looks at Lance in disbelief.

“Fifty bucks says I hit that before the end of the season.”

“Is that _character_ Lance talking or _you_ Lance talking?”

The other actor laughs shortly and crosses his arms. His eyes never leave Keith. “Both, I think. But me-Lance is less subtle than character-Lance. D’you think Keith likes chocolate?”

“Character-Lance is the _opposite_ of subtle,” Hunk counters, mind reeling. Is this a normal thing for actors to be talking about? Which of their cast members they want to bang? He’s not sure he likes the idea of that.

Lance waves a hand. “Only with people he doesn’t really like. The way I see it, when Lance actually likes someone--like, _like_ likes them--he gets all flustered. Perhaps even makes bad insults and fails to do basic math.”

“That’s a bit of a stretch.”

“It’s right in the script!” Lance dances away toward the actors’ tents. “It’s just a matter of how you read it! Fifty bucks, man! End of the season!”

Lance’s voice disappears as he goes around to the other side of the tent, and Hunk tries to comprehend the conversation he just had.

___

The set buzzes with excitement.

Only a select few know who the new cast member is--Shiro _isn’t_ one of them--but they’ve been less than subtle in mentioning that she is _very_ famous. Shiro runs through the possibilities in his head: Jennifer Lawrence? Scarlett Johansson? Emma Stone? None of them have done a lot of TV, but apparently neither has the Altean princess’s recast.

It’s not that the original actress wasn’t good, because they’re all _good_. But in the film industry, it’s not about being talented, as Shiro has learned. There has to be something else, something that sets you apart and makes you desirable. For a lot of people it’s their looks, or the fame they’ve already accrued. Shiro wonders what about the new actress got her hired.

Well, he’ll find out today. The rest of their filming schedule for the day is the scenes with team Voltron in its entirety, plus some individual scenes in their paladin armor.

Nick sits opposite him in the lounge, chewing bites of a sandwich. He’s worked with the guy in a series of action movies, and finds he’s glad to have him here on Voltron as well. “So you really came in today _just_ to see who the new princess is?”

“Yeah,” Nick replies, voice as startlingly deep as usual. “I wasn’t going to hear about it secondhand, that’s for sure. But it was nice that I didn’t have to be here by five A.M.. My costume and makeup seriously takes three hours.”

“I believe that,” muses Shiro. He unwraps his third granola bar and examines it, wishing he had time to eat something more substantial for lunch. But it’s the last day of filming, so the schedule is jammed full. “It takes a lot of skill to turn you into an angry purple turtle.”

Nick holds a hand against his chest. “I am _offended_ , Shiro, that you would call the emperor of the universe an _angry purple turtle_.”

“Well, I’m not wrong.”

“No comment.”

They both laugh at that, and continue talking as Keith walks up, a steaming beverage in his hand. The man drinks tea at every time of day. “Nick,” he says. “I didn’t know you were called today.”

“He’s not,” Shiro supplies, scooting over on the couch so Keith has room to sit. “He’s just lurking to find out who the new princess is.”

“I am not _lurking_ ,” Nick argues, spreading dark-skinned and muscle-bound arms wide. “I’m just curious.”

Footsteps clatter over to them, and suddenly Lance is draped over the chair next to Nick’s. “I _know_!” he moans, and ignores the strange looks he receives. “I _know_ who she is! The princess! They were trying to keep her hidden in the makeup studio but I had to go get mine touched up and now I _know_.”

“Shit man, really?” Keith asks, excitement playing on his face.

“ _Really_.”

All emotion drops out of Keith’s face in show of the man’s remarkable talent. “No one cares.”

Lance rolls himself over the back of the chair, lucky it’s sturdier than it looks. He flops onto the floor in front of it and clutches a hand to his chest. “Hot as lava! Sharp as knives! Ladies and gentlemen, Keith has _no chill_.”

Keith rolls his eyes but Shiro sees a smirk there.

Lance curls himself around so that he’s sitting on the floor, back propped up against the chair. “So. Do you wanna know who it is?”

Keith shrugs. “Not particularly. We’re going to find out in--” he checks his phone “--six minutes anyway.”

Lance is aghast. “You were one of those kids that never searched the house for their Christmas presents, weren’t you?”

“I don’t celebrate Christmas.”

“Is this because you’re Canadian?”

“That has nothing to do with it.”

“Are you Jewish?”

“Isn’t there some sort of law that says you can’t ask me that?”

A bell dings and tells them all to find their places so filming can begin again. They all push to their feet, except for Nick, who relishes in being able to finish his sandwich.

“So that’s a yes?”

“Christmas is just stupid fucking holiday. The end.” Shiro expects Keith to stalk ahead of them, but he hangs back. “Why were we even talking about this, anyway?”

“Uh…” Lance frowns. “Oh! I met the princess.”

“Oh, right.” Keith watches something off the corner of the control room set. “I know who she is, too.”

Lance almost trips. “What? No you don’t! You can’t!”

“But I do.” Keith looks sidelong at Lance. “Our new princess is Allura Conway, one of the most famous actors in America and the UK, dubbed sexiest woman alive three years in a row by People Magazine. Known for her roles in blockbuster movies like--”

“That’s impossible!” Lance cries. He and his character are almost too much alike. “You can’t know who she is!”

Keith hikes a thumb over his shoulder. “She’s standing right over there, dumbass.”

Shiro follows Keith’s gesture and, sure enough, there she is, as breathtaking as ever. She’s changed so much since that project--what was it, five years ago now? Allura probably doesn’t even remember him. Shiro tries not to be hurt by the idea. That’s just how the business is.

“Places in three!” an assistant barks out, and Shiro allows himself to be looked over and touched up by the costume and makeup team. Then he’s ushered onto the set.

Blue fluorescent lights flicker on and make the set feel alive, like he could really be on the control deck of a giant castle ship. That is, if he ignores the massive expanse of green that will be edited to have a view of the Arusian horizon in post-production.

Allura is wearing the same blue dress the old princess did, but she makes it look regal and not like a costume at all. Shiro waves to her as she takes her place inside the fabricated cryopod, and she flashes a smile back to him. Then he takes his own spot just behind the entrance to the deck. The director’s chair is set up just to his left, where there’s the best view of the set. Cross is already there, legs crossed at the ankles and arms crossed at the elbows--the physical embodiment of his name.

He’s got the typical male actors’ build--made out of strong lines and well-defined muscle. Cross is just about as white as they come, and his hairstyle hasn’t changed since he was the Hollywood heartthrob fifteen years ago. He’s anything but young anymore, with the lines of age just starting to show in his face, but that won’t affect his career just yet.

Shiro isn’t ignorant of the bias toward the conventionally attractive; he just happens to fall into that category and makes the best of it. He wishes it didn’t have to be this way, though, and sometimes he wishes for a day off of his workout regimen and a meal where he isn’t scrupulously counting calories and protein. But for every part of him that dislikes this lifestyle--there’s another that needs it, would flounder without it. So he continues.

With Voltron, though, Shiro thinks that things might be different. In the cast there are real variations in body type and ethnicity and other things that Shiro would never have seen even ten years ago when he was starting out. Back then, he was lucky to be able to pass as a white actor and carve away the edges of his home-life accent. He thinks that maybe now things are changing.

Arthur Cross clears his throat and scratches his head. Shiro is closest to him, with the other paladins gathered just to his right, a wall in between them and the director. He leans over to one of the show’s writers--Robert--and says in a voice low enough that Shiro knows he’s not supposed to hear, “Think we could get costuming to do anything with the princess’s dress? It’s a shame we don’t get to see more of that slammin’ body. If we don’t get to touch then we should at least be able to look.”

Robert chuckles and nods his agreement.

Shiro’s face heats up in disgust. He wants to march over to Cross and knock out his teeth, make him take back his words. Allura may be hot, but she does not deserve to be so blatantly _objectified_ and Shiro has seen it happen so often but it still rolls his stomach. As much as anything in the industry has changed it still has so, so far to go.

Cross catches Shiro staring and narrows his eyes. Shiro does the same.

Neither of them says a word.

“Places!” a shrill assistant yells, and Shiro is forced to break Cross’s gaze to stand behind the doorway. He can’t see the man anymore.

Then the director’s voice: “Three, two, one… action!”

___

“Keith, if you do not smile for this selfie I will safety pin your mouth to your ears and _make_ you smile.”

Lance puts only mild emphasis on his threat, aiming more to get a laugh from Hunk than anything. The yellow paladin and Lance’s self-proclaimed best friend on set took a handful of selfies with Lance, who has by now moved on to the rest of the team. Because, really, this armor is too cool _not_ to take a shit ton of selfies in. He’s gotten one with both Katie and Shiro, and the last to hold out is Keith.

“Maybe he’s going for the ‘strong and silent’ type,” Katie offers. She’s just pulling her gloves back from snapping a pic of her own--as neat as the costumes are, they aren’t touch screen compatible. “This is, like, _battle armor_ , you know. Smiling for these pictures could be ruining the entire aesthetic.”

Lance presses his phone to his chest in mock horror. “It would be a crime to keep this smile from the world. And I’ll be Keith’s got a killer smile, too--come on, just one. Please?”

He nudges into Keith’s shoulder with his own, and watches the man shift uncomfortable beside him. God, if Lance weren’t so bisexual his job would be a lot easier. 

As it is, he spends half his time on set--not during filming, though, because during filming he is 100% focused--trying not to be distracted by all the people around him. He supposes it’s not the plight of all bisexuals, but couple it with his tendency to flirt and desire for human affection and, well, it’s made for a lot of trouble on his part.

Katie rolls her eyes. “Take the selfie, Keith, or he’ll never stop.”

“I don’t know. I’m kind of intrigued by this safety pin idea,” Keith muses, one eyebrow propped.

“ _Ugh_. New plan. Either you smile for _one_ selfie or I take fifty of them no matter what your facial expression.”

Keith’s eyes widen in horror. “Fine.”

The smile he gives is forced and only takes up half of his mouth, but Lance is satisfied by it all the same. He plasters a wide and sincere grin on his own lips and leans into to press his face next to Keith’s, then hits the capture button three times in quick succession. The lighting off of the actual set isn’t the greatest, and he would be devastated if he came out of the evening without a good selfie with each of the other paladins.

Keith pulls away. “Happy?”

“Ecstatic. These are all going on Twitter immediately. I expect retweets from all of you.”

Shiro chuckles a little, and Hunk gives him a thumbs up.

A bell dings and a voice calls them all toward the set. It’s nearly time to start filming again.

Why is it that these breaks never feel as long as Lance needs them to be? Lance hastily types out his 140 characters and attaches the photos, and then hits upload. Then he shoves his gloves back on and drops his phone by the snack table. A student employee on the left-behind crew named Sandy promised to keep an eye on it during filming after Lance struck up a conversation with him one day.

Lance is always nice to the people on set. Friends make life more entertaining.

“Retweeted. All of you,” he reminds his co-cast as the all take their places on set.

There’s no verbal response, but he swears--he _swears_ it--that he sees Keith give him the barest hint of a real smile. His stomach does the stupid flutter he’s come to associate with deeper-than-physical attraction and curses his inability to squash it down.

Yeah, Lance is a lost cause with this one.


	2. Some Assembly Required

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second week of filming doesn't go exactly as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes! It's been so long since I've updated. But to be fair, it's been a /crazy/ set of weeks. Hopefully I can be a bit faster for the next chapter. Anywho, hope you enjoy this chapter--all the kudos and comments on the last one are so great! Thank you!
> 
> *Important note* I'm going to update the tags, but this chapter contains some pretty intense fatphobia so be prepared.

Katie doesn’t _intend_ for it to happen.

But she doesn’t exactly stop it, either.

It was the picture of Keith and Lance, where Keith looks like he’s in pain and Lance couldn’t be happier, both of them decked out in their paladin armor. Katie moved it from twitter to her Voltron blog with the harmless caption “two dorks hanging out on set” and suddenly--

People shipped it.

The post has nearly three thousand notes which, for a fandom whose content only really started airing a day and a half ago, it pretty damn impressive. And now that she’s reblogged a few headcanon posts and written a few of her own with that mysterious “insider information”, her ask box is blowing up.

_love your blog what do you do on set?_

_klance gives me life omfg why is the next episode a whole week away :(((_

_idk if you do promo posts but theres a rly good klance fic on AO3 called “marked” aaaahhhh its a soulmate au i’m screaming its so good_

And then somehow she’s ended up making a second blog--a Klance blog. There’s already fanart and fanfic sprouting up and if Katie’s being honest? It’s _good_. She enjoys seeing it. 

Normally she’s hesitant to ship real people--because even on a kid’s show she’s been on the other end and it sucks ass--but it’s obvious that the pair has chemistry. A few nudges in the right direction from a helpful cast member could all too easily lead to a real relationship.

And she’ll blog about it every step of the way.  
___

Keith aims the fan at his chair. Turns it up to high. Takes off his shirt and sprawls himself about the trailer in a desperate attempt to find relief from the heat. He didn’t used to appreciate air conditioning--there wasn’t much use for it when he lived up north--but now that his trailer’s is out he wishes more than anything to have it back.

Southern California is _hot_ , and Keith doesn’t like it.

He doesn’t sweat very easily, but by now it’s rolling down his forehead. Keith takes a moment to fan himself with the packet of papers that is his script for episode two of Voltron. The writers have a bad habit of handing the cast rewrites up until the day of filming, so he’s trying to nail down his new lines in the hour of lunch.

There’s a knock on his trailer door--or rather, the door frame because it’s propped open to draw air through.

“Yeah?” Keith asks, not looking over from his place laying on the ground. It’s probably an assistant come to tell him about a change in the schedule or--god forbid--more rewrites. The sound of footsteps entering his trailer makes him turn his head.

It’s Lance.

“Oh--” Keith swallows and suddenly remembers he’s shirtless. “Hey.”

Lance pushes past him farther into the trailer. “Run lines with me. This new shit the writers gave us is throwing me through a loop.”

“Uh.” Keith tries not to be offended by the invasion of his space--the man probably doesn’t know any better because as a spoiled high-budget actor he can get away with anything. “My AC’s out, though, so it’s a furnace in here.”

“That’s fine.” Lance turns around and seems to notice for the first time that Keith isn’t fully clothed. His eyes flick down to Keith’s chest and then back up again, and then there’s a slight hesitation before he holds up his copy of the script. “So--we have direct dialogue in the invisible wall scene, the nose dive scene, and the food goo scene. I think we should run those first and then go back and feed each other cue lines through the whole episode if we have time.”

Keith doesn’t bother sitting up to grab his script, just reaches out and scoots it over to himself. And he doesn’t look over at Lance, because he doesn’t care that his tank top is loose and his bermuda shorts are exactly the color of his eyes. It won’t do any good for Keith to admit the man is cute--he’s probably just as homophobic as the rest of Hollywood.

Not for the first time, he’s glad that most of his old work was acted under a pseudonym. He would never have gotten a role here if those films were associated with his name.

All he can do is hope that no one makes the connection.

___

Hunk’s in makeup when the intern comes to retrieve him. “Excuse me?” comes Sophie’s voice from the doorway, and the makeup artist pauses with a sponge halfway to his face.

“Oh, hey. What’s up?” she asks. Hunk doesn’t miss the smile that tugs at the corners of the artist’s mouth. She and Sophie must know each other well. Maybe they dye each other’s hair--where Sophie’s is a fading purple, Melissa’s is blue with stripes of pink and purple on one side. Exotic hair colors are more popular here than back home, but they’re still far from common.

“Cross wants to see Hunk in his dressing room. Didn’t say why but apparently it’s important enough that you need to talk to him _during_ his prosthetic application.” Sophie shuffles some of the papers on her clipboard. “You close to a stopping point?”

Melissa purses her lips and looks at Hunk’s face. “I can be. I just need him back soon.”

“That should be fine. I don’t think it’ll take long.”

Hunk isn’t sure if he should be relieved or worried to hear that.

“Alright then. Take him.” Melissa sets down her sponge and leans against the counter, reaching for her mug of coffee. “Have fun, Hunk. But don’t dawdle on your way back.”

“Gotcha,” he replies, and hoists himself out of the chair. The glimpse he catches of himself in the mirror shows that his base layer has been put on and mostly blended, but without his eyebrows filled in it looks unnatural. Ah, well. No one who cares will see him.

Sophie steps aside to let Hunk through the doorway. “Thanks, babe. I’ll see you later.”

Melissa waves the pair off and hides her smile behind the rim of her coffee cup.

“Are you two…” Hunk trails off, hoping the rest of his question is implied. They walk through the hallways of the studio, and Hunk is glad to have Sophie there because she knows her way around better than he does.

“Yep,” replies the intern, and her eyes dart over to Hunk’s face--gauging his reaction.

Hunk smiles at her. “That’s great.”

They come to a stop in front of a door with the name CROSS printed neatly on the outside. Sophie raps her knuckles against it and turns the knob, pushing it halfway open before she walks away.

Cross sits in a chair facing a mirror while a crew member works to affix the large rounded ears to his head. Hunk isn’t sure if they make him more or less intimidating.

“Come in, Mr. Garrett. Ah--Karen, if you would please excuse us for a moment. And shut the door behind you, if you please.”

Hunk swallows his nervousness and steps into the room, allowing Karen to duck out behind him. The door closes softly and then he’s alone with Arthur Cross.

“I’m glad you could join me on such short notice,” the director says, arms crossed over his chest as he leans back in the chair. He extracts one of his hands to press a stray flap of rubber against his skin. It doesn’t stick. “Mr. Garrett, I’ve been in the film industry for nearly fifteen years, you know that? Not a lot of people last as long as I do.”

Hunk stands awkwardly between the director and the door.

“And I’m going to let you in on a secret to how I’ve lasted as long as I have--do you want my help, Mr. Garrett?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

Cross smiles, showing teeth with small prosthetic fangs.

“It’s because I know the game and I know how to play it. I know that there are rules that you have to play by to win.” He picks up the eyepiece that Sendak wears and turns it over in his hands. Hunk can’t help but think it’s a lot like an eyepatch. “And the most important rule, Mr. Garrett, do you what what that is?”

Hunk doesn’t answer.

Cross looks him directly in the eyes. “You have to look the part. Fat people don’t get hired, Mr. Garrett. It was a fluke that you were ever cast for this show--if we didn’t need McClain’s fame and if he hadn’t insisted that you be cast with him, then you would not be here. Do you see any other fat people in this cast? Of course not. And you’re on borrowed time here unless you can get your ass off of a couch and your face out of a plate for long enough to _make_ yourself look the part. Do I make myself clear?”

The lights in here are too bright. They’re burning into Hunk’s eyes and making them water, almost like he’s about to cry. And he must not have gotten enough sleep last night because he can’t seem to keep his hands still. They’re shaking. _He’s_ shaking.

“Yes,” he manages to whisper.

Cross adjusts his position in the chair, getting more comfortable. He sets the eyepiece down. “I’ve arranged for you to meet with a personal trainer seven days a week, and for a dietician to make a meal plan for you and and track your progress. You will do everything they say, Mr. Garrett, without fail and without complaint. I don’t think I need to tell you how much is at stake here.”

“No. N-no. You don’t.”

“Good. That will be all, then. I’ll see you for filming shortly. Please tell Karen that she can come back in now.” He waves Hunk away and goes back to adjusting the prosthetic.

Hunk nearly stumbles out the door, and mumbles a “We’re finished” to the woman waiting in the hall. He doesn’t look back as he tries to recall the route to his dressing room. It’s all he can focus on, getting back there--that, and trying not to cry.

If he did it would ruin his makeup.  
___

Allura is not a fan of prosthetic ears. They itch.

A lot.

She has to actively restrain herself from picking at them, because even though the makeup team is nice, she can tell that after having to reattach them for the third time in one day they were slightly less excited to help. So instead she picks at her fingernails, which haven’t been “perfectly manicured” in months.

“How was Harberg? As a director?” Shiro asks. It looks like he’s having trouble not fidgeting as well, but he’s got a whole arm of mapping dots not to touch. If they get moved, the green-screening of his metal arm is disrupted. Not that Allura is watching the movement of his arms, or the way the muscles underneath his skin move so visibly with the slightest shift.

Allura purses her lips, watching the crew bustle around to get set up for the next scene. “Not bad. Very energetic--sometimes almost too much so, but I’ll take that over pissy and uninspired any day.”

Coran lets out a snort. He doesn’t seem to be having any trouble with fake mustache. “Allura, my dear, you couldn’t be talking about anyone _specific_ , could you?”

“Of course not,” she replies, feigning offense. Her gaze darts over to Shiro to make sure he’s smiling, too.

He is, and the sight puts a flutter in Allura’s chest. Bloody hell, but isn’t she too old to have crushes like this? She’d hoped it would go away while she spent a few years filming a series in London, but, no--the moment she’d stepped on set here and seen him from across the room, it was back. And it was _infuriating_.

Allura Conway doesn’t have crushes, doesn’t have _weaknesses_. She doesn’t have the option to. It took her until seven months ago to shirk the harmful ideas that have been pushed upon her for upwards of twenty years. It felt liberating, and it still does--every time she eats a full meal or increases her max-out weight for lifting, she gets a swell of pride.

But that’s stamped out whenever Shiro walks into the room and she’s reduced to a middle grader twirling her skirts at a school dance. It makes her despise Shiro a little bit, because of what he does to her, but he’s just so kind and funny and hot that her resolve never lasts long.

“Why _did_ you take this job, Allura?” asks Shiro, looking at her over that painted-on prison scar. “Surely it wasn’t for the money.”

Allura laughs a little and clears her throat. “I wanted a break from the big screen. And I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to work with Coran. With--ah--with everything that’s happened in my personal life in the last few years, I realized that I need to take every chance I can to keep family close.”

Shiro’s face falls. “I’m sorry about your father.” His arm twitches like he wants to put out a consoling hand. Or he’s trying not to touch the mapping dots again.

“There’s nothing that can be done for it now,” she says with a shrug. No weakness. “And continuing to act as I have done--it’s the best way to honor his memory. Even if it means dealing with a few who are…” she searches for the word. “Quiznak-heads.”

A sharp bark of laughter from Coran sets both Shiro and Allura off as well. As it dies down, Coran speaks. “I did my stint as a director, back in the day. I started with theatre shows and then did a few Indie films before focusing on my acting career--I was a real looker in my younger years, you know.”

Allura pats Coran’s shoulder to keep herself from scratching her ears. “I’d love to have you as a director some day, Coran, if you ever get back into it. Keep a role open for me, eh?”

“Always, my dear.”

A bell dings to call them back to the set. Coran pats both of them on the shoulder and then walks between them. Allura glances over at Shiro, about to say something more.

The look on his face catches her off guard.

He’s watching Coran, eyes narrowed--not in a menacing way, but quizzically. Like he’s thinking something really hard, so hard that it brings a fingerless-gloved hand up to his chin. Another bell hurries them on, so Allura doesn’t get a chance to ask him the question--

_What are you thinking about?_

___

Maybe Lance oversells it for the goo-fight scene.

But that line--“I actually don’t hate you right now”--he couldn’t resist. So he cheesed it up a little for a few takes, made eyes at Keith while they were chained together. Cross never yelled at him for it, so he considers it a win.

Now he’s covered in some fabricated green slime that he’s thrilled to not _actually_ have to eat, and more than ready to take a shower to get it off of him. Between takes, the best they could do was wipe off what they could, but it’s left him with slime in places he doesn’t care to think too long about. Lance doesn’t like things touching his skin that aren’t supposed to be, and he can feel it fraying on the edge of his calm. He’s ready to get out of here, to get clean.

And yet, Lance is having more fun than he’s had in a long time. He’s used to getting along with his coworkers, but already the cast of Voltron is closely linked. It’s their second week of filming, and he feels a closer bond with them than any of his other jobs before this. So he doesn’t mind hanging around for a few minutes after filming is over with, joking and laughing and flinging goo at the others. He takes a few pictures to upload to Instagram later, making sure to shield his phone from the onslaught of prop goo. 

He sneaks up behind Keith and smears a finger-full onto the man’s cheek. Then he darts away, just quickly enough to avoid Keith’s elbow as he whirls around.

“Gotcha!” Lance hollers--and gets a mouthful of goo, courtesy of Shiro. It tastes _disgusting_ , and he spits it out all over the ground. Maybe he makes a bit of a show out of it, but if it gets the insanely hot Takashi Shirogane to clap a hand over his back and ask if he’s okay--yeah, he’ll take it.

Katie is laughing at him, Hunk looks concerned, and Keith is smirking with a glob of goo sitting just to the side of his nose. “Does anyone know if the goo is toxic?” Shiro asks, one arm still around Lance.

“It’s not,” Allura offers. “It’s mostly gelatin and food dye. Surely it doesn’t taste _that_ bad.”

Lance uses the palm of his glove to wipe off his mouth. “You want to try some, then?”

The actress puts up her hands. The fabric of her costume is dark in some spots, from where the goo has hit her. “No, thank you. That’s quite alright.”

A blob of green hits her shoulder.

Katie’s laughter fills the set, and the rest of the cast’s surprise melts into it as well. Lance’s mouth still tastes awful, but even that doesn’t hold back his chuckle. Hunk is laughing so hard that he leans on Lance’s shoulder, hitting his back a few times. Passing crew members smile at them as they go about their work.

“Enough!” yells a voice. An angry voice, and a distinctly familiar one at that.

They all fall quiet under their director’s glare. Cross steps up onto the platform with a loud _thud_ of his boots. He’s still wearing his Sendak costume, purple and fuzzy and probably not as intimidating as he should be. Hunk shuffles away, behind Lance, and next to him Katie crosses her arms defensively.

Lance swallows, and it tastes like sour gelatin.

“This has got to stop,” growls Cross. He stares the lot of them down, and Lance wonders if anyone else is already tired of his rants. “You call yourselves professionals, and I here I find you _screwing around_ like a bunch of children! This is unacceptable, and it will _not_ continue. I’d better not have to tell you this again, or there will be consequences.”

Lance leans down to speak quietly into Katie’s ear. “Sen _dak_? More like Sen _dick_.”

Katie _snorts_.

The moment after she does so, her hand flies to her mouth, and the color drains out of her face. Cross’s head snaps toward her and his scowl deepens. “Is something funny, Miss Holt?”

She says nothing. Just shrugs.

That’s when he starts _yelling_.

His face turns so red that Lance can see it through his purple makeup. His shoulders bunch up and the veins pop out on his arms and forehead.

“You will answer me when I’m talking to you! Kids these days never learn respect! I don’t care that you’re famous, I don’t care that your daddy gives you everything you want. You work for _me_ and you will do as I say--”

Shiro steps in front of Katie. “Arthur!” he shouts, matching the director’s volume. Lance puts a hand on Katie’s arm and guides her behind his body, as well. The rest of the cast draws instinctively closer around their youngest coworker. “She’s _fifteen_. You really want to yell at a kid, Arthur?”

If anything, Cross looks angrier. But he steps back and gets quiet. “Watch yourself, Takashi,” he growls. Shiro doesn’t back down. “Get out of my sight. All of you.”

He turns on his heel and marches toward the dressing rooms, presumably to get his costume taken off.

“Katie, are you alright?” Shiro asks, voice soft and worried. He places a hand on her shoulder and leans down, as if shortening the foot and a half height difference between them will reveal whether or not she is, in fact, alright.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” she replies. Runs a hand through gooey hair. “I’m used to asshole directors. Don’t worry about it.”

Shiro gives her a wary look, then exchanges glances with Allura, and pats Katie on the shoulder. “Okay. But let us know if you need anything. That goes for all of you--we’re a family, okay? In outer space _and_ on set. Got it?”

Lance doesn’t look at any of them. Maybe they’re exchanging warm, reassuring smiles, or maybe they’re all awkwardly not looking at each other as well. He doesn’t know.

“Best to take a shower before this goo dries, everyone,” Coran offers, breaking the silence.

“Right,” says Keith, and steps off the platform. Lance watches him go, and follows when the rest of the group disperses as well.

He can’t wait to get this goo washed off of him.

___

Katie is having difficulties focusing on her calculus homework. That’s more of an indicator than her shaking hands and jumpiness that she’s still freaked out by what happened with Cross.

She’ll be fine. She _will_. She has thick skin.

Lance is on the other side of the table, working on his own independent study work with just as little interest as Katie. Neither of them really felt like facing the newly-interested paparazzi outside just yet, so they’re doing classwork by the snack tables.

Lance glances over at Katie. “What math class are you in, anyway?” he asks.

“Calculus,” she answer.

His eyebrows shoot up. “Damn. I just took that last year. Languages are more my thing, you know?”

Katie shrugs. “What languages do you speak?”

“I’m fluent in English and Spanish, but I’m trying to learn Russian and Chinese and Hebrew right now. And I took a few years of Latin.”

“Nice. What’re you working on?”

“Uh--this is actually my linguistics homework. So it’s English but, like, really frickin’ intense English. It’s constantly blowing my mind because we just _say_ words but there’s actually so much that goes into making those words and putting them in sentences and it’s just… it’s crazy.” He stares down at his paper.

“Neat.”

“It is. But I’m really bad at explaining it.”

Katie nods.

“Look, I’m--I’m sorry about what happened earlier. I shouldn’t have said anything--I knew Cross was mad. I just never know when to shut my mouth, you know?”

She raises an eyebrow at him, wondering if perhaps the man will say that again for her to record. “We’re cool. And besides, Sendick is pretty funny.”

Lance smiles a little. “I came up with it myself.”

“Petition to never call him anything _but_ Sendick when he’s not around?”

“Seconded. It’s signed and sealed, my small green friend.” Lance leans back in his chair and balances his pencil between his nose and upper lip.

“I can’t believe you just called me that. It makes me sound like a frog.”

“I was thinking more of a small, angry gecko. You know, like the insurance commercial but different.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Katie points out.

“It wasn’t supposed to.”

She looks sidelong at him. “So when are you going to ask out Keith?”

“Who told you?” The pencil drops from Lance’s face and he pounds the table with his fist. “Hunk! I’m going to tickle that guy until he _pees_ for this.”

“Hunk didn’t tell me anything. It was just a guess.” Now it’s Katie’s turn to lean back, smug in the verification of her theory.

“I swear they type-cast us way too well for this show. No telling on me, okay? I have a plan.”

“Sure you do.”

“I do!” Lance throws his hands into the air, indignant. He closes his textbook with a thud.

Katie erases a mistake in her calculations. Fixes it and puts her homework away. “Mmhmm.”

Lance presses a hand to his chest and looks appalled. His skin is not quite a smooth without its usual thick layer of makeup, but it looks well taken care of, regardless. “I regret everything. Someone get this tiny green alien away from me.”

“Lance, there’s no one else here.” Katie rolls her eyes. “It’s, like, midnight.”

He glances down at his watch. “Damn. You need a ride home?”

“That would be great.”


	3. Return of the Gladiator

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Voltron's popularity soaring on-screen and online, the cast deals with the newfound fame in their own ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning to readers--at this point, we start get a taste of Katie's gender dysphoria, so if that's going to affect you, tread carefully.
> 
> Also, bonus points if you can spot/recognize my OCs from one of my other Voltron fics. Let me know if you find them! Even more bonus points if you go read it :)

Shiro grips the dumbbell in his right hand, palm up as he curls it toward himself and back down for a solid eight or ten reps, then switches arms. His muscles are already huge, but getting blood pumping to them makes them look even more impressive.

Matt is _not_ watching him. Not noticing how the prison uniform clings tightly to his body, or how his eyeliner is perfect even though he’s supposed to be a captive on an alien ship. No, Matt’s not paying attention to that at all.

He’s doing his own pre-filming workout, though his dumbbells are surely less than a third of the weight of Shiro’s, and he’s not sure why he bothers.

Shiro lays the weight on the ground and goes over to the pullup bar. Matt’s eyes follow his every step. “It’s good to have you back on set, Matt,” he begins. “Has Katie… mentioned anything, about being on set here?”

“Not really, no. She mostly keeps to herself these days.” Matt switches hands. “Teenager, you know.”

The other man drops from the bar and groans. “When did we get _old_ , Matt? I swear that last week my mom still had to sign insurance waivers for me.”

Matt chuckles a little at that, remembering. Matt’s dad had a role in Shiro’s first movie, and would bring him to the set so he could work some odd jobs and get familiar with some people in the industry. It was some teen flick, with a sappy heterosexual romance plot, but it was popular enough to catapult Shiro into fame.

Since then, Matt has mostly been off screen, but when his sister was cast for Voltron and needed a family, it was just easiest to hire her real one. So here he is, back on set with the first guy he really had a crush on, and finds that so many years later it hasn’t dulled a bit. No matter how many boyfriends--secret, unfortunately--he’s had, he still can’t get this guy off his mind.

But he knows he has no chance with Shiro, they’re too different, and besides--even Matt can see the doe eyes that he and Allura make at each other. He wishes the man happiness wherever he can find it, so he’ll settle for sideline appreciation instead.

“Just keep an eye on her, okay?” Shiro continues, and Matt has to take a moment to remember what they were talking about. He does a few squats on a bosu ball while Shiro moves into a pushup position. “Our director can be pretty tough on us, and I want to make sure she isn’t taking it too hard.”

Matt nods. “Gotcha.” Shiro’s back and shoulders ripple with each push up. Matt looks away. Goes to the snack table to grab a bottle of water. One of the boys there--he looks Katie’s age, at most--looks up from his rearrangement of a cheese tray.

“Can I get you anything else?” he asks. There’s a sticker on his shirt that says _Anthony_ in sharpie.

“No, thanks,” Matt replies. “Did you get a haircut?”

The boy’s hand goes to his head, pushing the beanie farther forward on his scalp and covering up the closely shaved black fuzz that is his hair. “Yeah. It was getting too long.”

“Well, it looks good,” says Matt, and lifts a hand in farewell before returning to the mini-gym just off the set. Shiro has finished his warm up by now, and while the difference in his physique isn’t substantial, it’s noticeable in the uniform. Matt smiles and tries not to think of how twiggy he must look in his own.

They’re called onto the set, and Matt fights to get himself into the performing mindset. Never mind that the other people on set with him are Shiro, two costumed guards, and a bunch of people in green suits to be later CGIed into aliens. He is Matt Holt, and he’s about to be thrown into the ring to fight to the death. He’s terrified. He’s going to die.

He speeds up his breathing. His pulse quickens. There--he’s ready.

“Action!”

The group is prodded forward by one of the guards, and they’re stopped in front of a large door. Matt ignores the cameras that swirl around them, getting close shots of their faces.

Matt lets his face crumple. “I’m not gonna make it,” he whimpers, voice breaking as he spreads his hands in desperation.

There are tears buried at the corners of his eyes, kept back only by sheer will. In the last forty-eight hours he’s gone from a happy space explorer to an alien prisoner and endured all kinds of horrors, only for it to end like this?

“I’m never gonna see my family again.” He says the words just as he realizes how true they are. His mom, his sister, have they heard yet? That their mission went wrong? And what has become of his father?

Shiro leans forward until Matt feels his breath on his shoulder. “You can _do_ this,” he whispers.

The guard lifts his weapon to point directly at Matt, light glinting off of it to shine into his eyes. His arms go up further, to guard his face, as if maybe that will make them choose someone else.

He doesn’t see what happens next. He’s pushed out of the way and then suddenly Shiro has the weapon and he’s yelling and swinging the blade down to collide with his knee. Matt cries out and collapses to the ground, clutching at the wound. Shiro lunges to the ground after him in a tackle.

Shiro’s face is red with rage and exertion. He’s close enough that Matt sees the tiny veins in his eyes. “I want blood!” he shouts.

Matt stares at him in stunned silence. Almost forgets that his knee should be hurting.

And then Shiro laughs. His head falls forward and the moment breaks, and Matt tries not to shift his body at all even though he’s laughing, too, because Shiro is still hovering over him in a glorious push-up position.

“Cut!” yells the assistant director. The real guy--Arthur Cross--is apparently off getting his costume put on, so a woman whose name Matt doesn’t know is running the filming in the meantime.

“Dammit,” he says, rolling off to one side and getting to his feet. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’ll get it next time. It’s just, these rewrites--I’m not used to them yet.”

Matt chuckles again. He agrees with Shiro’s unspoken words: the rewrites for this scene are ridiculous. Really, who yells _I want blood!_ , even to save their friend from certain death?

Shiro dabs tears carefully from the corners of his eyes. “Alright, I’m good. I’m good.”

The assistant director smiles knowingly. “Places, then, for take two.”

___

Keith sits in the cockpit of his lion, wondering how, if these things don’t have seatbelts, they all stay in their seats the whole time. His character is supposedly being flung around as the sword arm of a giant robot--so how is it that he’s not a bug on his own windshield?

He considers asking that, but--no, that wouldn’t be a good idea. He’s supposed to be focusing.

His least favorite part of filming so far is the cockpit scenes. They have to be recorded individually, which means that none of the other actors are there for him to play off or even get cue lines from. One of the boys who usually runs the snack table is reading them from off camera, but it’s not the same.

The memory of running lines in his trailer with Lance surfaces, and Keith grabs onto it--maybe it will help him get in the groove. Lance, sprawled out next to him on his floor because apparently going somewhere else to practice was out of the question even though his AC still doesn’t work. Lance’s melodramatic line recitations and sincere request for critique when he finally got serious. How he sometimes speaks Spanish when he gets excited, and Keith has learned to just let him keep going until his calms down, because it’s really kind of cute. The way his warm, cunning brown eyes look directly into Keith’s when they talk.

Nope. No--this is not helping get him into I’m-being-shot-at-by-aliens mode. He needs something else.

“Do it again, Kogane,” Cross says from outside the cockpit. “Just keep rolling. We’ll have him say it all a few times and then we can keep the pieces we like, if there are any.”

Keith imagines himself fighting his director.

Yeah, that works marvelously.

A few minutes later, he’s crawling out of the hatch and motioning for Katie to climb in next. The lighting crew scrambles about to change all the colors from red to green, so it looks like they’re filming inside a different lion. He and the green paladin exchange a high five as they switch places, and then Keith takes a seat in the lounge area to wait.

“See, the good thing about animation is that _no one_ has to do the stunts,” Lance is saying. “I’ve voiced a character who could turn himself inside out and fall from buildings without getting hurt. Cartoons are invincible, unlike people.”

Shiro shrugs. “Then why’d you get into the live-action side of things?”

Lance notices Keith and lifts his chin in greeting. “You kidding me? There’s no way I could keep all these good looks hidden from the world. It would just be cruel.”

“How selfless of you,” Keith says wryly. He sits down in one of the chairs with a sigh.

Lance holds up his phone and makes a face, taps his screen, and returns it to his lap. “Since episode one aired, I’ve gotten five thousand new Instagram followers. It’s insane. You have social media, Keith?”

“Not really.”

“What a shame. Shiro?”

The man raises his eyebrows and picks at the fingers on his gloves. “I had a MySpace, back in the day.”

Lance gasps. “No way. An actual, real life _MySpace account?_ ”

“Don’t act so shocked. A lot of people had them. But then Facebook, and then Twitter and Instagram took over as the popular social media platforms.”

“And Snapchat!” adds Lance. “Please tell me you both at least have a Snapchat.”

“I think I made one when it first came out,” Keith supplies hesitantly.

Lance’s face lights up. “Dude! Add me! Get out your phone, right now.”

Keith does so, reluctantly, and surrenders control of it to Lance so he can find the application and add himself. There’s some fancy maneuvering as Lance holds his phone above Keith’s to scan something on his screen that, apparently, will add him. “Done.”

“Great,” Keith says, half sarcastically. He’s not sure if it’s good or bad that he’ll have access to all Lance’s selfies from now on. And vice versa, if he decides to start posting them. He hasn’t really used the app since it came out almost five years ago, and shudders to think how much has changed since then. How much _he’s_ changed.

“Shiro’s social media platform is actually just all the shit he’s in,” Lance continues.” It seems like every other week you’re in some new movie or magazine.”

Shiro smiles like he’s embarrassed.

“Seriously, though. How many movies have you been in?”

“Uh… I forget. I kind of stopped keeping track.”

Lance’s jaw drops, and Keith raises his eyebrows. It would be nice if he could forget about some of his roles--and if they stayed forgotten.

“Lance!” comes Katie’s voice from behind Keith. “You’re next.”

The man springs up from his chair and snags his helmet from the coffee table next to him. “See you on the other side, mis amigos.”

Katie sprawls into the chair newly vacated by Lance. “Ughhhhh,” is all she says.

Keith’s phone pings with a notification.

_New Snapchat: SirLanceIsHot_

___

Thirty messages in her inbox. So many notifications that she has to turn them off to keep her phone from blinking every three seconds. Two _thousand_ followers on her main Voltron blog and thirteen hundred on the other.

Katie almost feels famous.

After just a few days of tumblr popularity, she had to change her blog bio to include, “Don’t ask me how I get my information--I can’t tell you,” but even now nearly half of her asks include the question. She’s taken to responding with cheeky GIFs instead of typing out a response.

The other messages, though, take more time to respond to.

_headcanons for the paladins favorite holidays?_

_pls tell shiro i think hes hot and also can allura bench press me i might die but it would be worth it_

_is Pidge a boy or a girl bc i’m really confused on the show so far Pidge is a boy but he’s played by a girl so ???_

Some of them are harder than others. In all, she spends maybe two hours a day answering messages, filling up her queue, and making her now-customary daily update post.

“Is that tumblr?” Hunk asks from over her shoulder.

Katie yelps in surprise and presses the phone to her chest.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No, it’s fine.” Katie lifts her legs from the coffee table so that Hunk can maneuver around her into a chair. The lounge space is cramped, for sure, but it’s nice to have seats with real cushions in the studio for when they get a break. And the snack table is no more than ten feet away, which is both good and bad for Katie’s coffee addiction. 

Hunk sits down heavily. He looks tired--more tired than the rest of them, like at any moment the bags under his eyes might collapse into craters and he’ll fall into them. “Is your tumblr a fandom blog or an aesthetic blog?”

“Um… a fandom blog, I guess.” She considers telling Hunk that she practically _runs_ the Voltron fandom on tumblr. Discards it. “It’s mostly a mix of whatever I’m into. No particular theme.”

“Do you... do you read any stuff about the show? I’ve heard that you should stay away from reviews and comments and stuff.” Hunk fiddles with the cap on his water bottle, like he’s trying to decide if he wants to take a drink.

Katie shrugs, and brings a hand behind her head to scratch at her neck. “Sure, I reblog some Voltron stuff. It’s mostly a matter of avoiding the bad stuff, you know? Or just understanding that no matter what you do, there are going to be people out there that don’t like it. It’s all just noise, anyway.”

She doesn’t mention how, back when _Katie’s Corner_ first got popular on Disney, she made the mistake of finding the bad stuff. Reading it. Believing it. She’d been young back then, too young to know better.

Now she laughs at the hate, doesn’t she?

It’s the middle-ground stuff, the _reasonable_ arguments and questions that hurt.

_a boy or a girl?_

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Hunk pulls out his phone and starts tapping away at the screen. “We’re pretty popular, as far as viewers go. We had more viewers for last week’s episode than the opener. And I’ve read estimates that it’ll nearly double for next week.”

“I take it you haven’t been avoiding reading about us online.”

Hunk looks up, almost sheepish. “Maybe a little. But only the official reviews--none of the comments. And I haven’t followed any Voltron blogs with my tumblr yet. Is yours attached to your name?”

“God, no,” says Katie, and takes a sip of her coffee. “The only social media that Katie Holt has are Twitter and Instagram. The rest are blissfully free of my real life.”

“How do you do it?” Hunk asks. He kneads his hands together. “Keep it separate. I feel like my whole life has become this show, and I’m going crazy because of it. I don’t know… I don’t know how long I can deal with this. Maybe I wasn’t cut out for this industry.”

Katie leans forward and reaches out her hand to rest on his knee. “Hey. You’re cut out for this. You’re talented as hell, man. I know what you’re going through, and I swear that it doesn’t last forever.”

Hunk looks over her shoulder instead of directly at her. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess.”

“What Shiro said about us being a family--he was right, you know.”

Her castmate opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, but another voice speaks instead. “Hey, we have muffins! You guys want any?”

Katie turns around to see Jacob and Anthony, two of the boys who run the snack table. Both of them carry a box of pastries. A coffee cup is balanced on top of Jacob’s.

“There’s chocolate chip,” adds Anthony.

“Uh--” Hunk stutters. Katie watches him push out of his seat hastily. “No. No thank you. I should really get going.”

The man disappears in the direction of the dressing room, and Katie narrows her eyes at the emptiness where he’d been, wondering what’s so urgent.

“No particular theme, my ass,” Anthony says, walking around to Katie’s front. Jacob laughs a little and brings a cup of coffee to his lips to drink. Sandy isn’t with them, but Katie doubts he’s too far behind.

The three boys go to a magnet high school in the area, and are interning on set as part of some class. Supposedly, they’re supposed to be observing and maybe even doing important things, but Cross doesn’t like them “following him around like flies” so they’ve been stuck managing the snack table since day two of filming. The left-behind crew, they’re called, because of where the table and small lounge area are located.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Katie jokes, pulling her phone back out now that it’s safe. “I run a small personal blog with no ties to the Voltron fandom whatsoever.”

“And Anthony here is completely heterosexual,” Jacob replies.

Anthony punches Jacob in the arm, making a few drops of coffee slosh out of his cup. “I trusted you with that information! I’m so betrayed.”

Sandy, having entered a few paces behind them, walks over with packets of baby carrots clutched in his hands. “So _bi_ -trayed.”

“Hey! _I_ get to make the puns around here.” The scandalized look on Anthony’s face is enough to make Katie laugh out loud. “No trust. I have no more trust. For any of you.”

Jacob comes to stand over Katie’s shoulder, and leans down so he can see her screen. She’s still not entirely sure how the three boys discovered that she was running two of the most popular blogs in the Voltron fandom, but they promised not to out her. And in a pleasantly surprising turn of events, they’ve been _helping_ her. Gathering the good gossip from crew members, proofreading her posts and promoting them on their own blogs.

“I notice you haven’t posted anything about Cross in a while,” Jacob says.

Katie pauses in her typing. “Nothing to post.”

“And Anthony here is completely--”

“Oh my _god_ , Jacob.” Anthony buries his face in his hands and moans.

“Nothing that I _want_ to post,” she amends. “Our popularity’s still too fragile to be getting bad press. And he makes a good show, so we can deal with it for now.”

“Por ahora,” Sandy repeats from behind her. Katie turns around to face the boy, and sees him arranging the carrots carefully on a tray with other assorted prepackaged vegetables.

Katie holds out her free hand. “Toss me one of those.”

He blinks and slings some carrots in her direction. Katie snatches the bag out of the air without spilling even a drop of coffee, and fixes a contented smirk on her face as she settles back down into the chair. She has a few minutes left of break before filming starts for her next scene. It’s with Shiro, and their characters are investigating the ruins of Sendak’s--sorry, Sen _dick_ ’s--ship.

“You think the big guy’s okay?” Jacob asks, suddenly serious. “He left muy rápido once we showed up.”

“I’m not sure,” she replies. “But I’ll keep an eye on him. Maybe mention it to Shiro.”

Anthony’s mouth lifts into a tiny smile. “That post about him being Space Dad™ was spot-on.”

“Startlingly so,” Sandy adds, and steals one of Katie’s carrots. “Looks like he could kill you, but is actually a cinnamon roll.”

“And could also kill you. Have you seen those thighs?”

“Ay, díos, Anthony. Keep it in your pants,” Jacob scorns.

“It was a simple observation! You’re the one taking this out of context.”

“Mmmhmm. Sure.”

“I can’t even right now.”

Sandy and Katie exchange a look. Katie rolls her eyes at him, and he gives her a weary, knowing smile.

___

“I think talking to green spheres is really getting into my head,” Lance says. He’s not paying attention to how the slight breeze ruffles Keith’s hair. “Please stop me if I strike up a conversation with the boom mics.”

“Green screen is indeed a true test of your acting skills,” Allura replies.

Shiro, standing as close as ever to the British actor, smirks. “One of the movies I did, there were about three people in the cast who weren’t wearing green bodysuits. And we didn’t do much filming off-set, either. Here, at least, we’ve got a nice landscape and a cute little village.”

Allura chuckles.

Lance pokes at one of the poles with a styrofoam ball on the end that is, of course, green. They’re supposed to help the actors track the movement of the supposed aliens, but so far Lance just thinks they’re distracting. But it gives him something to look at while he delivers his lines, so he’ll deal with it.

He picks the pole up off the ground, careful not to get dirt on his gloves. Hopefully the assistant in charge of it--who went to go get some water between takes--won’t yell at him for playing with props that aren’t his. He tests the weight of it in his hand and then swings it over to tap Keith on the ass.

The actor skitters forward, kicking up dust, and claps his hands over his butt to protect it from further offense. “What the-- _Lance_!” His face reddens through his makeup.

Lance dons an innocent face and twirls the pole through the air in lazy figure eights. He purses his lips and raises his eyebrows. “Oops.”

Keith opens his mouth and is about to say something, but stops himself. Starts again. “Watch where you’re swinging that thing.”

“Oh, I am,” Lance replies, looking Keith dead in the eye as he speaks. Keith looks like he might short-circuit.

Footsteps approach from behind Lance, and then a hand reaches around his shoulder to snatch the pole from his grip. “Give me that,” Sophie hisses, “before you poke someone’s eye out.”

Lance turns around and fixes the girl with a winning smile. She’s gotten her hair cut even shorter, so now the purple is nothing more than a discoloration at the ends. “Sharing is caring, Sophie.”

“You’re an idiot,” she shoots back, but both of them are grinning now. Not for the first time, Lance is glad to have a familiar face on set. Sophie holds the pole out to one side, like a scepter. “Alright, everyone. Break’s over--back to your places.”

Keith sweeps the hair out of his face and turns back toward the set, still looking a little flustered and confused. Lance finds his place next to Hunk, having remembered something important.

“I was right, you know,” he says.

The tall Hawaiian looks over at him as he adjusts a piece of his armor. “About what?”

Lance smirks as he watches the red paladin walk away. “Keith looks _really_ hot when he sweats.”


	4. Fall of the Castle of the Lions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the fourth episode of Voltron, Katie questions her job security, Shiro has to admit how much he likes Allura, and Keith and Lance are both oblivious idiots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a tiny bit of Spanish in this chapter, and it consists of "Careful!" and "Sorry" in that order, if you need the translation :)
> 
> So this is a long chapter--sorry not sorry, my friends

Allura looks stunning in her dress.

The thought gets stuck in Shiro’s mind, and as much as he tries to hack it away, dissolve it, wash it out, it stays. Every glance over at her, amidst the flashing of cameras and the chatter of reporters and fans and celebrities all around them, adds more glue to the thought, hardens its bond to his mind.

Her hair is pulled back into a bun, with a few strands left out to frame her face. Her makeup is beautifully understated, just enough to accentuate her natural beauty. And her dress, oh her _dress_ , is a deep shimmering purple, one shouldered and hugging her form through the waist, draping over her hips and falling loosely to the ground. The thick layer of muscle over her shoulders, arms, and back are on full display tonight and Shiro can’t stop staring.

“Mr. Shirogane,” a reporter says, hurrying up to meet him. Her footsteps are masterful in heels as high as she’s wearing. “A few words for _Tonight_?”

Shiro tears his eyes from Allura, who’s doing her own interview next to Lance. He looks sharp in a tailored suit and tie. “Yes, yes of course,” he replies, fixing his mouth with a smile.

“Takashi Shirogane, star of the hit television show _Voltron Legendary Defender_ , here on the red carpet premiere of _Dusk III_ and wearing his signature wingtip eyeliner,” the reporter says by way of introduction. She looks to him from the cameraperson that follows her around. “Tell me, Shiro, what’s it like to move to the small screen again, after so many years making blockbuster movies?”

“It’s really been a great experience,” he says. “You know, I’ve got such a great cast and crew to work with on _Voltron_. We all come from such different backgrounds--we’ve got everyone from Coran Jones, who’s been in the business for as long as I’ve been alive, and we’ve got Hunk Garrett who--for whom this is his first big job, and we all just work so well together. I can’t imagine a better set of people.”

The reporter smiles at him, next question already prepared. “Fantastic. And this isn’t your first time working with Allura Conway--you two co-starred in _The Darkroom_ almost ten years ago now. Is it strange to be on set with her again after so long?”

Shiro’s eyes dart over to Allura, just in time to catch her eye. He smiles as he turns back to the reporter. “Quite the opposite. She’s a phenomenal actress and it’s an honor to get to work with her again. It’s great to catch up with her between filming.”

Her eyebrows shoot up. “Ooh, it sounds like there’s more to that story.”

A laugh escapes Shiro’s throat, and maybe the least-suave “uhhh” of his life.

“But that’s all we have time for tonight. Have a great night, Mr. Shirogane.”

“Thank you, you as well,” he replies, and ducks hastily away from the camera. He spots the rest of the cast at various places along the carpet, all slowly making their way toward the theater.

By now Lance has separated from Allura and fallen back to walk beside Keith--who’s gone for a deep red suit that glistens in the lights--and continuously leans down to whisper things in his ear. Coran--in a white three-piece tuxedo--is signing autographs for a group of middle-aged women. Hunk is walking with Katie, who keeps pointing things out to him and waving at fans. Hunk looks stylish in a pair of khakis and shirt and vest, and Katie wears a standard pantsuit in shimmering black with emerald green accents.

They’d ridden all in the same limousine, to meet up with their writer and director at the theater. Shiro has yet to see Cross or Thomas, but knows they’re here somewhere. 

There’s maybe five more minutes to linger on the carpet, so Shiro finds his way over to Allura.

She smiles at him as he draws close. Shiro’s stomach twists into a knot. “I’ve really missed American red carpet events,” Allura says, effortlessly hooking her arm through his outstretched elbow. “You clean up nice.”

Shiro coughs into his fist. “I could say the same for you. No one can take their eyes off you tonight.”

Allura inhales sharply and averts her eyes, scanning the crowd. “I think with you here, I might have some competition.”

The knot in his stomach tightens. “I’m happy to take runner-up.”

“You’re too sweet,” replies Allura, and rolls her shoulders a few times. “Which do you think is worse--leg day right before a publicity event, or chest and back?”

Shiro laughs a little. “Depends on what is is. I take it you had a good lift today, then?”

“It was phenomenal, but I’m certainly regretting it now, sore as I am.” Allura waves to a few fans, and even goes so far as to blow them a kiss when they do the same for her.

“I know the feeling all too well.”

Ahead of them, Hunk and Katie have made it to the theater entrance. Coran is just steps behind them, and Shiro and Allura are maybe ten paces away. Lance and Keith are somewhere behind them, and knowing Lance they’ll be the last ones inside. Other celebrities file into the theater as well.

Inside, the clamor of the crowd drops off and pleasant music fills the entryway. Shiro spots Cross and Thomas off to one side and debates going to say hello before deciding against it. No need to tarnish his so-far pleasant evening.

He watches as Cross waves Katie over to him. The girl detaches herself from Hunk, who looks nervous to see her go and finds Coran to guide him around instead, and walks over to where the director is standing. Commander Iverson’s actor goes to find a seat, leaving the two of them to a conversation.

Shiro narrows his eyes as Cross splays his arms in a gesture at Katie’s body. He can’t hear what’s being said from so far away, but with Cross he doubts it’s a compliment  
to her attire. Katie looks down at herself and fidgets with her lapels. Says something in response.

Their interaction continues for another minute before Cross shoos the young actress away. She looks paler than before, any trace of her red carpet smile gone, and refuses to meet anyone’s eyes. Shiro fights off his scowl because of course Cross said something to ruin her night. He resists the urge to stomp over to him and demand an explanation and an apology because how _dare he_ hurt Katie.

The lights dim, and he and Allura hurry to their seats.

The show is about to begin.

___

Sophie flops the packet of rewrites down in front of Katie, sending ripples through her cup of coffee. “Sorry,” she says with a grimace, and Katie isn’t sure if she means for the rewrites or the coffee.

“How many are there?” she asks. It looks like the whole _script_ is reprinted.

“A lot,” Sophie replies. “Robert was ‘struck with inspiration’ last night, apparently. There’s a new filming schedule at the back--the first rewritten scene is filming after lunch.” The woman gives her a sad smile before heading off to find the rest of the cast.

Anthony’s sharp whistle draws Katie’s attention back over to him. She _had_ been setting up her tumblr queue and talking with the left-behind crew before Sophie came by. “Damn, girl. That looks like a whole lotta work between now and lunch.”

“You said it. What changes could he have possibly made?” she asks aloud.

Sandy dumps a packet of sugar into his tea. “Look and find out.” He gestures to the stack of papers in front of her, scattering sugar crystals as he does so.

“Bro!” Jacob cries out. “¡Cuidado! We have to clean that up!”

The boy quickly rights the packet in his fist. “Lo siento.”

Katie slides the rewrites toward her and opens to the first page. It’s the scene where Allura interrogates Pidge to try and get a confession about being a girl. Before, it ended with Pidge storming off to add some new mods to Green, but now--

Pidge is leaving team Voltron?

“What?” Katie whispers. She reads on quickly, trying to gauge if this is as dramatic of a change as she fears.

The boys have gone quiet. “What is it?” Anthony asks.

“Pidge is _leaving_ ,” she says. The boys crowd in behind her, reading over her shoulder intently.

She turns the pages, finding that the takeover of the castle is still largely intact, but changed. Now it’s _Lance_ that gets knocked out in the crystal blast, and Hunk is the one to go with Coran to something called a “Balmera”. There’s a big fight between Shiro and Sendick that ends in his and Lance’s capture, Allura and Keith trapped outside the particle barrier, and Pidge… inside the castle, hiding.

Katie swallows and tries not to remember Cross’s words at the premiere, just nights ago.

“You may have a contract, but there are ways around it that leave you without much of a job, Ms. Holt. I can reduce your character to nothing but flashbacks. Think about that next time you want cross me.”

God, would he really do all this over a stupid _suit_? Sure, she’d changed it last-minute from the dress he approved, but it shouldn’t be that big of a deal, right? Lots of women wear suits. And men, of course. Katie should be able to do the same.

“What’s all that about?” Sandy asks once they’re done with the read-through. “They’ve never changed it this much before.”

“I don’t know,” Katie lies. “But I should, uh, I should go learn my new lines. I’ll see you guys later.”

“Hey, Katie,” Jacob calls out as she’s about to walk away.

“Yeah?”

“Take some pretzels and a pack of carrots with you. You can’t run on just coffee until lunch.”

Katie holds out her hand to accept the food from Jacob. “Thanks,” she says guiltily.

“Just lookin’ out for ya.”

They all exchange a wave good bye, and then Katie heads off to her trailer.

___

“I like your work.”

Keith jumps a little and looks over to his costar, Allura Conway. They don’t get much chance to talk, despite spending upwards of ten hours a day together six days a week. She still seems like a movie star while Keith is nothing more than an unknown Indie film actor.

Cross is running behind today, because apparently filming all of the scenes with Pidge in the castle is taking longer than expected. In the meantime, Keith and Allura are waiting on set, ready to film a scene outside the particle barrier. Keith hopes that Katie is doing fine dealing with their director mostly on her own. She seemed nervous about it this morning, though she tried to hide it.

“You--ah--you do?” Keith asks, but is afraid to ask which work she’s talking about.

At first, he hadn’t really cared who knew about his past roles. But as he’s learned more about his director and the prevailing perspectives in Hollywood, he’s more and more glad to leave them buried. He leans back against a nearby set-crew scaffold, careful not to let any of the dried paint fleck off onto his suit.

Allura laughs, kicking up a leg behind her at the knee and grabbing it for a stretch, using her other arm to steady herself next to Keith. The woman is in constant motion. “

"Of course. I saw the trial pilot episode before accepting this role, and even then you were on the level of much more experienced actors. You’ve only gotten better since then. You’re going places, Keith.”

“Oh.” The actor sighs with relief as Allura stretches the other leg. “Thank you. I like your work as well. I was a big fan of the Red Dress trilogy.”

His coworker lets her leg fall and scratches at the sleeve of her bodysuit. They all have skintight costumes, but at least the paladins have armor to wear atop them—it’s less revealing, somehow. Although Allura hardly has anything to be self-conscious of, Keith supposes. She has the ideal female body, and one more muscular than any of the Hollywood women Keith has met. Of course, he’s judging on purely aesthetic grounds—he realized long ago that girls were of no interest to him—but regardless, surely the costume should be of no bother to her.

“It was really well written,” she replies with a shrug. “I didn’t have to do much to make it work.” The actress taps her chin with a gloved hand. The thick bracelets around her wrist reflect the overhead lights. “Come to think of it--I don’t actually know much about your career prior to Voltron. Have you done TV shows before this one?”

Keith freezes up. This is exactly the kind of conversation he’d like to avoid. “No. No I haven’t.”

“Movies, then?”

“Yeah. Low budget stuff.” He doesn’t want to lie to his coworker--his friend. But he might have to if he wants to keep his job. “Nothing really even worth putting on a resume.”

Allura raises an eyebrow. “I see. Well, soon enough you’ll have things to put on it that you’re proud of. Lots of them.”

Keith looks away, unsure of what to say that will keep her from pressing further. “I hope so.”

“I’m going to get some water,” Allura sighs. “If I’d known we’d be kept waiting this long, I’d have brought along my script so I could at least work on lines for the rest of the episode. Really, all these rewrites are horrid. You want any?”

Keith blinks. “Any rewrites?”

“Sorry, no,” Allura says with a laugh. “I meant, would you like me to get you any water?”

“Um—that would be great, thanks.”

The actress nods and walks away, toward the snack table.

“Psst.”

Keith looks around warily, wondering if the noise is for him.

“Psssssst. _Keeeiiith_.”

It’s Lance. Of course.

Keith spins in a slow circle, wondering where the other actor is hiding. It’s possible he’s behind one of the flats, but for the most part, this section of the studio is bare and green. They don’t have enough of a budget to go flying out to the mountains every time they have an outdoor scene, so instead Voltron’s animators and renderers will be taking home big paychecks for their work on the show.

“Look up, dumbass.”

He scowls and lifts his chin while he repeats the circle. A third of the way through, he spots a form curled around a post in the upper level of the scaffold. It starts laughing.

“Took you long enough!” Lance straightens to his full height, which added to the ten-foot-high scaffold makes him slightly intimidating. “I was beginning to think I’d be up here until set crew came back.”

“What are you doing up there?” Keith folds his arms and looks fully up at his costar, ignoring how his mouth goes just a little dry at the sight of him. He’s not in costume, which strikes Keith as strange, but maybe he’s done filming for the day. It makes him uncomfortable, to be standing here in a suit of space armor while Lance is wearing leggings with shorts and a loose long-sleeved t-shirt. He doesn’t even have shoes on, so his long toes curl over the edge of the platform just feet above Keith’s head.

He can’t believe he’s gone and developed a stupid _crush_ on this guy. Given Keith’s luck—and unfortunate taste in men—Lance is probably as much of a heterosexual _jerk_ as his character. The man is a method actor, after all.

Lance adopts something of a casual pose, which is a feat atop a rickety scaffold. “Enjoying the view.”

“Of what?”

The man waggles his eyebrows—or Keith thinks he does, but he can’t see Lance’s face very well—and leans forward onto the railing. “Maybe you should come up here and enjoy it with me.”

Keith ignores the invitation. “How long have you been up there?”

Lance shrugs. “A while. Long enough to hear you get high praise from _the_ Allura Conway. Not that I’m jealous or anything but—I’m jealous.”

Redness rises to Keith’s cheeks. He swallows. “Oh really? I thought you were the hotshot superstar here.”

Lance looks like he wants to jump down from the scaffold but thinks better of it. Keith wonders if he’s stuck up there, and if he is, wonders how long before he’ll admit it and ask for help to get down. “Of course I am,” he says with empty pomp. “I’m simply worried that you’ve come to usurp me.”

“And you’re not worried that Shiro, Katie, or Hunk are going to do that?”

“No, they’ve all got a different niche to fill,” he replies with a dismissive hand. Lance gives up on leaning over the rail and instead sits and dangles his legs over the edge of the platform. His feet are level with Keith’s face now, and he has to resist the urge to swat them away as they start to swing forward and back. “You’re the only one here that could take mine.”

He takes the bait. “And which niche is that?” He grabs hold of one of the support beams and leans back so he can see Lance’s face. His mouth presses into a thin line, making his lips disappear almost completely. But Keith isn’t watching them anyway.

Lance puffs out a breath. “The ‘Insanely Hot and Charming’ one.”

Keith coughs and nearly loses his grip on the scaffold. “I thought that was Shiro!”

“No, he’s here for the forty-year-old moms to swoon over. We’re for the younger generation’s viewing pleasure.”

“Ah. I see.” Keith scrambles to put his thoughts back together.

“Maybe you haven’t noticed it yet—because _someone_ doesn’t keep up on their own social media—but you’ve gotten a lot more popular since the show started airing.” Lance looks off across the studio, to where Allura has struck up a conversation with a crew member by the water fountain. “You should really start an Instagram, you know. You’ll get a gazillion followers, and it’s a real confidence boost. There are always a few haters but a good selfie gets hella nice comments, always.”

“I’m sure a ‘gazillion’ fan-girls would sell their souls just to be in the same room as you.” Keith tries to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

“Yeah,” Lance answers, sounding somewhat deflated, though Keith has no idea why. “Fan _girls_.”

“Are you stuck up there or what?” Keith demands, ready for this conversation to be over.

Lance blinks. “What?”

“On the scaffold. Do you need help down?”

“Oh. Uh.” Lance looks out over the edge of the platform, judging the distance to the ground. “No. I can get down on my own.”

He grabs hold of the railing and slides his body forward, off of the platform. His descent isn’t nearly as graceful as he probably would have liked it to be, but he lands mostly on his feet nonetheless.

“See?”

Keith pulls his eyes away from the flash of skin at his waist between his shorts and rumpled t-shirt as Lance tugs the hem back into place.

“Looks like I was mistaken.”

Their eyes meet, and Lance is the first to break the gaze. He hides the sudden awkwardness between them by gesturing to the scaffold. “Next time, you gotta join me up there. It’s a nice place to chill out—and the air conditioning works in this building.”

“Next time,” Keith replies. “Sure.”

___

For some reason it’s Melissa, the makeup artist, who is in charge of setting up Shiro’s fighting rig.

“This--” she holds up a nylon harness “--goes underneath your costume. There’s a loop on it and a hole in the back of your suit that the rig clips into. Have you worn one of these before?”

“Yes. Help me with this zipper?”

“Of course. Turn around.”

He does so, and feels hands at the back of his neck make their way down his spine as she unzips the top half of his costume. He slides his arms free of the sleeves and lets the bodysuit hang around his waist. The chestplate and arm pieces of his armor wait on a nearby table, but he’s already wearing the boots.

Melissa walks around in front of him, masterfully pretending the blush across her cheeks isn’t there. Maybe at one point Shiro would be embarrassed to be standing shirtless in front of someone he barely knows, but he’s so used to it now that he doesn’t care. But the same cannot be said for Melissa, it seems. She takes a deep breath and looks in his eyes.

“I’m going to put this on you now. Is that okay?”

Shiro grins slightly, glad for the studio’s policy of always asking for consent before touching the actors--sometimes it’s redundant, but mostly it’s nice not to feel like he’s being handled like an object. “Yes.”

“Arms out.”

He complies, holding up his arms as Melissa fits the harness around his body. She works quickly, fingers dancing across his skin as she tightens and loosens the straps until they fit comfortably across his chest and arms.

“How’s the fight choreography coming along?” Melissa asks. “Sophie said that your first run throughs were pretty rough.”

“We got it worked out,” he replies. He hadn’t exactly enjoyed spending so much time so close to Arthur Cross, especially given the fact that he _loses_ the fight, but it’s his job so he did it without complaint. “Sophie is a good teacher.”

A small smile turns up the corners of Melissa’s mouth. “She is.”

The artist gives a small tug to the loop in the back of the harness and deems it acceptably fitted after a few more adjustments. While Shiro puts his arms back into the sleeves, Melissa readies the armor. In no time, he’s in full costume.

Shiro rolls his shoulders to settle his armor in place. “Thank you.”

“Anytime.” Melissa aims finger guns at him and then reaches out for her coffee mug. “You’d better head to the set. I think they’re expecting you.”

“Right.”

When Shiro arrives on the set, he surveys the mats and cushions, and the thick black cable that stretches from one end of the room to the other. He doesn’t look forward to how sore he’ll be tomorrow after being jerked around the studio a few times by that thing.

He spots Lance and walks over to him, momentarily concerned by the impressive scrapes and bruises the makeup team added to his face, and scuffs on his armor. “Hey, Shiro. D’you think they’ll let me watch the fight at least once? I want to see Sendick get beat up.”

“I’m sure we’ll have to practice before we film.” He chooses not to comment on the nickname for their director that’s being passed around by the younger actors.

“Good. Acting passed out has its perks, but being able to see is not one of them.”

Shiro laughs. “No, it’s not.”

“Oh, and--Shiro. Do me a favor?” Lance quirks a conspiratorial eyebrow.

“Anything.”

“Forget to pull some of your punches today.”

___

Lance taps his fingers in the doorway of Keith’s trailer. “You almost ready?” he calls inside.

“Almost. You don’t have to wait out there.”

“You sure?” Lance steps into the trailer, feeling his weight press slightly down on the tires. “I don’t want to, like, mess up your after-filming ritual.”

Keith frowns at him in the mirror. His hair is pulled up into a ponytail at the top of his head, clearly only to serve the purpose of keeping it from his face, because it looks _ridiculous_.

And also kind of adorable.

The man rubs a damp towel over his face, wiping away his makeup. “I don’t have a ritual. And if I did, I wouldn’t care if you were here while I did it.”

Lance adopts a scandalized facial expression, but it’s lost on Keith. He’s not paying attention to Lance, which, if you ask him, is a shame. “You don’t have a _ritual_?”

“No,” Keith deadpans. He discards the dirty towel into a hamper. “Why would I?”

“Because--” Lance stops. “I don’t know. You just have to have a ritual.”

“Well, I don’t.”

Lance narrows his eyes, determined to pull Keith from whatever mood this is. The actor has been oddly standoffish for the last few days, and Lance doesn’t know why. Not to mention, he seems completely oblivious to Lance’s flirting, which is damn frustrating. Still, any straight guy would have turned him away already, so surely Lance has a chance with him.

“I do.” Lance leans on the wall next to Keith’s mirror, watching him wipe away the last of his eyeliner. He counts off the points on his fingers. “First, I take off my costume. Then I fold it, because it has to be folded--”

“You know they wash our costumes every night, right?”

“ _Yes_.” His eyes follow the careful, methodical movements of Keith’s fingers over his face, tracing the contours of his nose, cheeks, and chin. “And then I take off all my makeup before I can put street-clothes back on--except the eyeliner, because that stays on until I get home. And I have to listen to _we r who we r_ by Ke$ha the whole time. That song has over six hundred plays in my iTunes. A ritual, Keith.”

“If I could raise one eyebrow, I would be doing that at you. Right now.”

Lance smiles. “Oh--what? You mean like this?” He plants one hand on the dresser and blocks Keith’s view of the mirror while he demonstrates the skill. Keith fights a smile and fails.

“Get out of my face,” he chuckles, and Lance finds a palm squishing his nose as the man pushes him back. “You’re going to make us late.”

“ _I’m_ going to make us late? You’re the one still sitting in his trailer, wiping off makeup.”

Keith spins around on his stool and stands, snatching a leather jacket from the back of a folding chair. “Come on, let’s go.”

He leads Lance out of his trailer, flicking off the lights as he goes. He doesn’t bother to lock it because no one does that, and then the two of them are crossing the lot in the relative darkness of a city at night.

“But why do you have a leather jacket, though,” Lance says, and it’s not really a question. “It hasn’t gotten below seventy degrees in weeks.”

Keith glances down at the bundle in his arms. “Safety precaution.”

“Huh?”

The other man huffs out a breath instead of responding.

“Canadians,” Lance muses, as if that explains the strange behavior.

He can feel Keith’s scowl. “If I’m giving you a ride, you are not allowed to insult my nationality.”

Lance throws his head back and groans. “See, _this_ is why I have a car. I don’t like begging rides off people. I don’t even have the _Uber_ app, Keith. That’s how much I don’t like it.”

“Then why am I giving you a ride to Katie’s house?”

They pass through a gate into the parking lot. The only vehicles left are a handful of cars, a van, two trucks, and a motorcycle. “Because some jackass rear-ended me yesterday and my car’s in the shop now. And you volunteered to take me.”

“Volunteered? More like ‘was forced to’.” Keith unwraps the leather jacket from his arm and starts to put it on. “All of the seats in the Holt’s car were full and Katie practically backed me into a corner by asking if I had room for another on my bike. It would have been--”

“Hold on, your _bike_?” Lance demands, at the same moment he realizes that they’re not walking toward a nondescript hatchback, but the motorcycle next to it. “You drive a _motorcycle_?”

Keith zips up the front of his jacket. “Yeah. I thought you knew?”

“How would I have known?”

“Uh…” Keith pulls the seat up and pulls out an extra helmet--his is clipped around one of the handlebars. “I don’t know. Here, put this on. You ever ridden one of these before?”

Lance bites his lip, helmet held gingerly between his fingers. “No.”

Keith swings a leg over the bike and slides forward on the seat. “It’s not hard. Get on behind me.” He puts the helmet on while he waits for Lance to do as he says. “Now--you should hold on with your arms, but really it’s your--it’s your legs that keep you on,” he continues as Lance settles the helmet over his head.

The seat of the motorcycle tilts forward by design, and as much as Lance tries to give the other man space, he ends up sliding into him until his chest is pressed right up against a leather jacket. Lance wraps his arms lightly around Keith’s waist and thinks how much this feels like a cheesy romance movie.

“Is this good?”

“You’ll find out,” Keith answers with a bit of a laugh.

A rumble fills the otherwise quiet parking lot as the engine sparks to life. “Ready?”

“Just a sec." Lance detaches himself long enough to pull out his cell phone, take a quick selfie--to be posted to Instagram later--and then return it to his pocket. "Now I am."

The bike jolts forward and Lance instinctively tightens his grip on Keith. As they roll through the parking lot and out the gate--Keith waves at the attendant on the way out--Lance realizes that Keith was right; it _is_ in the legs. He’s glad that Keith is facing forward, and that they’re both wearing helmets, because as his thighs clamp around the outside of Keith’s legs with increasing pressure as they zoom through the Hollywood streets, Lance feels himself blush.


	5. Tears of the Balmera

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New characters means new people on set, as if the cast of Voltron didn't have enough to worry about already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, so I'm really sorry I haven't updated in forever. It turns out that college is a lot of work, and I've had zero free time to do any writing (ugh). I don't know if that will be the case for the rest of the semester (probably), but I'll keep updating when I can.
> 
> Because in the next chapter is where EVERYTHING STARTS HAPPENING and I realllly want to write it.  
> Happy reading!  
> ___

Hunk shows up early to things he’s nervous for. A by-product of his upbringing, perhaps, or a reaction against it. Back home, nothing started or ended on time, which often meant for Hunk--who liked organization and schedules--that he got a lot of time to himself to think things through. He got used to that, grew to like it, and with things being more punctual on the mainland… he has to compensate somehow.

  
This morning, he’s on set as soon as the gates open.

  
It’s five A.M., maybe, and the whole set is dark save for the offices of the few unlucky folks who _have_ to show up this early.

One of them is the makeup trailer. Remembering how nice the artists are and wanting a bit of company to calm his nerves, he makes his way across the empty lot toward it. The sun is just starting to paint the horizon a smoggy gold.

Hunk knocks at the entryway before walking in, even though the door is propped to let in the cool morning air.

“Hunk?” Melissa says, surprised. She reaches over and turns her music down a little. Nick Parker--who plays Zarkon--looks over to him with adhesive slathered onto the side of his face.

“I didn’t know anyone else was called this early,” he muses, chipper despite the time. “Good morning!”

“Hunk, you’re not…” Melissa’s surprise flips to confusion.

“I know, I know,” he assures her. “I was just having trouble sleeping so I came over early. I have to be at the gym in an hour, anyway.” He tries not to show how much he dreads his morning workout. He’s no stranger to exercise--he grew up surfing and swimming--but the things his trainer puts him through are something else entirely.

Nick shrugs. “Good to have you here, man,” he says, then obeys Melissa’s command to face forward.

“You excited for filming today?” asks Melissa, reaching across Nick’s shoulder to grab the front half of Zarkon’s face. It looks strange without anyone wearing it.

“Uh, sure,” Hunk replies, leaning against the back counter. “I guess.”

Nick’s eyes meet his in the mirror, and he gives a sympathetic smile. “It’s okay to be nervous. You’ve got a pretty big feature this episode.”

Hunk shifts his weights between feet, brushes the hair out of his eyes. “Yeah.”

“You’re gonna kill it, man. You’re a good actor.”

“Seconded!” Melissa chimes in. “Not that I’m telling you this, but you’re super well-loved among the fans. I believe I’ve seen the words ‘cinnamon roll’ and ‘too good for this world, too pure’ attached to you.”

Nick laughs a little. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s a _meme_ ,” Melissa supplies. She aligns the prosthetic over Nick’s face, and the pale purple synthetic stands in stark contrast to his dark skin. “And a meme--hold still--and a meme of high praise at that.”

Hunk looks at the woman in disbelief. “Are you for real?”

“I would have thought that _you_ at least would be familiar, but I guess not.” Melissa feigns disappointment. “And I’m, like, older than you are.”

“No, no, I know the _meme_ , I just didn’t think anyone would use it for me.” Hunk wishes he’d brought his water bottle with him. His stomach is empty and sometimes, at least, he can fool it with water.

Melissa shakes her head. “Good. You had me worried there.”

“You’re not that much older than me, are you?”

The makeup artist shrugs. “A few months, maybe.”

“That doesn’t even _count_.”

“ _Stop it_ , you’re making me feel old!” Nick cuts in, voice muffled and distorted through the prosthetic and not being allowed to move his face. “I refuse to feel old.”

“Last I checked, you were a ripe old ten-thousand _years_ old,” offers Melissa.

“Ha. Ha,” Nick deadpans, which makes Melissa crack up. She pushes a clump of pink hair behind her ear before continuing with the application.

“How’d you get cast as a villain, anyway?” Hunk asks the actor. “You’re a pretty chill guy, and for the most part the rest of us are pretty type-cast.”

Nick turns his palms over in lieu of a shrug. “Shiro said the show he was working on needed a bad guy and I was between films at that point. Besides, I’ve always wanted to play the villain.”

Melissa presses the edges of his prosthetic into place. “Did you think that villain would look like an angry purple turtle?”

The man throws up his hands, still careful to keep his head and neck motionless. “Why does everyone keep saying that? I’m terrifying, I tell you. Have you seen my cape? _Terrifying_.”

Melissa “mmhmm”s as she goes about the tedious work of making the edges of the prosthetic disappear seamlessly into his skin. “I’m sure Hunk here is quaking in his boots just at the thought of you.”

“Nah.” Hunk shrugs. “Team Voltron isn’t afraid of a crusty old turtle.”

Nick groans.

___

Shay Anderson is a body builder.

An actual body builder.

Allura _has_ to get her autograph.

She’s done her research on the guest star, as per usual so that she has material for small talk, and found a long list of accomplishments and perhaps the cutest fitness blog she’s ever seen in the process. Allura has to admit, the casting team has really outdone itself in finding Shay. She also wants to believe that they hired her to spite their director--who doesn’t like anything other than cookie-cutter attractive--but doesn’t want to get her hopes up.

More likely, Shay is just another attempt to draw publicity and popularity to the show. As if it needs it-- _Voltron_ has absolutely exploded in the last three weeks. It’s customary for Allura to get questions from reporters about whatever she’s working on at the moment, but even those are usually peppered with references to her past roles or her private life. But now… all people want to know about is _Voltron_.

Allura is used to fame, but this feels like something else entirely.

She hopes the others can handle it.

“Filming for scene seven starts in fifteen,” an assistant informs Allura.

“Thank you.” Allura nods. She rolls the bracelets around on her wrist a little and decides it’s now or never. There is very little overlap between her and Shay’s schedule, and she doesn’t know how many episodes they’ll have her here for.

So.

“Excuse me, Shay?”

The woman jumps a little and turns around quickly. She’s shorter than Allura, but from the character description she knows that some platforms and fancy editing will change that. The nearly full-body costume is slightly disconcerting, but Allura knows she’ll get used to it. “Yes? Ah--it’s you--you’re--I mean, hello!”

Allura smiles and extends her hand. “Hello. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“You as well.” Shay accepts the handshake, careful not to squish the pointed ends of her gloves. “I--uh--you’re my idol. I can’t believe I’m in the same room as you.”

The makeup and prosthetics team did an amazing job with Shay’s costume--the emotions on her face are still plainly visible, even through the layers of makeup and silicon.

“I looked you up when I saw your name on the cast list,” says Allura. “And I just felt the need to tell you that you’re a true inspiration. And I love your blog.”

The woman blinks several times. When her eyes close, their slant becomes more apparent, and when they open Allura can see the dark brown hiding beneath yellow contact lenses. “You. You… you what?”

“I love your blog.” Allura shakes out her shoulders a little bit, feeling as exposed as ever in her bodysuit. “And I was watching some videos of your lifts on YouTube--and I was wondering if--would you be able to help me with my form on a few things? I never feel like I get my hang clean right, and my deadlift is simply abysmal.”

“Oh, my god. I can’t believe this is real. Allura Conway knows who I am and wants my help with something.”

Despite herself, Allura blushes. “Can I take that as a yes?”

Shay nods emphatically. “Yes. I would love to.”

“Scene seven, filming in five!” a voice shouts to the room.

“Marvelous.” Allura glances over at the set, knowing that she needs to go. “Oh, and one more thing?”

“Yes?” Shay pauses her own preparations to leave.

“Could I maybe get your autograph?”

Shay looks like she’s going to melt. “Can I have yours?”

___

Katie doesn’t miss having long hair, like, at _all_ , so it should come as a surprise to none that she doesn’t like having to wear a wig for filming this week.

Yes, she’s as excited as the rest to learn the mysterious Pidge Gunderson’s backstory, but she wishes it didn’t involve quite so many skirts. She’s been thinking about it and realized that it’s been six months since she’s worn a skirt at all--six months since the finale of _Katie’s Corner_. The day after that, she had all her hair cut off.

Now she catches her reflection in a window as she walks toward the set and cringes. The costuming team has put her in a purple dress with some sort of apron, and a matching headband. Her wig feels itchy and fake, but she’s been assured that it looks fine enough times that she’ll keep her mouth shut about it.

“You’re an evil genius,” Sandy says without preamble as Katie makes a stop at the snack table. Jacob hands her a baby carrot, and Anthony turns the other way while she pours herself some coffee and takes a swig even though that’s definitely not allowed while in costume.

Katie breathes out through her mouth, almost regretting the scalding hot coffee. “Yes.”

“Is this about the…?” Jacob asks, glancing around for eavesdroppers.

“ _Yes_.” Sandy shakes his head while Katie bites into the carrot. “I’m in awe.”

“All I did was invite the cast over to my house for a spontaneous game night,” Katie says. “It’s not my fault that game night was when Lance’s car was getting fixed and Keith was the only person he could get a ride with.”

“On his _motorcycle_ ,” Anthony adds. “The fandom’s _still_ going crazy over it.”

“I have all the pictures saved to my phone,” says Jacob.

“They’re my background _and_  my lockscreen,” says Sandy.

Katie raises an eyebrow, knowing they’re both lying. The media attention has made it all too easy to pull stunts like this, and Katie loves it. There’s only so much she can get away with--staging a romantic motorcycle ride, wearing exactly the same outfit every day, leaving some choice items next to the trashcans--but she does all she can.

Anthony rubs some of her fake hair between his fingers. “Is that wig comfortable?”

“No.”

Physically, it’s fine. The show is high-budget enough that they could pay for a good wig, but that’s not the problem. But wearing it, seeing herself in it… it unsettles Katie, and if anything it’s a confirmation of something she’s been thinking about for a long while.

But today she has to be a professional. Her identity crisis can wait.

Hopefully.

“Damn.” Jacob signals for Katie to hide her coffee cup as an adult walks by. “Is it just for today, though?”

Katie sighs. “Actually just until dinner. But with all the Pidge in this episode, I have a schedule chock full of Sendick today. My last scene isn’t until _ten_.”

Sandy whistles. “Isn’t there some rule about the hours that minors can work?”

“Eh. Probably. But my schedule is pretty light the rest of the week.” She takes a big swallow of coffee, trying not to grimace at how bitter it is. They don’t even have _good_  coffee on set, but Katie Holt is addicted and drinks it anyway.

“Does that mean what I think it means?” Anthony takes a step closer and adopts a conspiratorial expression. His eyebrows--only a few shades darker than his skin--lower over his eyes.

Katie smiles. “Of course it does.”

Her blog has been mostly queued posts for the last week and a half, which is fine, but she has almost a hundred asks to respond to, and a few posts to write. Plus, so much fanfiction to read.

So. Much. Fanfiction.

“Yesssss.” Jacob shakes an excited fist. “We’ll make sure to pass on any juicy set gossip you miss.”

“Good.” She finishes her coffee and tosses the empty paper cup into the recycling bin.

Anthony looks down at his watch, and then taps it with a finger and a significant look in her direction.

“I know, I know.” Katie pats at her wig to make sure it’s still in place, looks over her dress for rogue splatters of coffee, and fist pounds all the boys before heading off to set. “I’ll see you guys later.”

___

Matt was pleased to get the call from one of Voltron’s interns that he’d have a scene in this week’s episode. Granted, it’s all of one line, and a comedic bit about frozen peas at that, but he’s happy for it all the same. His work as the lighting director for an upcoming Netflix series is fun but monotonous at times.

“Okay, but I _slay_ in this Garrison uniform,” he says to Katie, tugging at his sleeves.

She looks over at him with a single raised eyebrow. Matt is no longer used to seeing her with long hair, and even though the wig is beyond convincing it doesn’t look quite right. “Please never say that again.”

“Come on. I look good in orange.” He watches as various assistants and interns scurry about the set, preparing the scene, and relishes in the fact that he doesn’t have to do any of it.

“Good, because that’s the color of your hair.”

Matt adjusts his glasses. They look exactly like the ones his sister wears as Pidge. “You say that like you aren’t just as much of a ginger as I am.”

“True--but I wear it better.”

“You thinking about growing it long again?”

He watches for her reaction. “Hell no.” Katie takes a too-steady breath and doesn’t meet his eyes.

“How does it feel, then, to wear that wig?”

Katie looks at him then, searching for the meaning he knows she wants there to be in his words. He’s had the suspicion since before _Katie’s Corner_ ended that something--Matt isn’t sure what--was bothering his sister, something about herself specifically. Her signing onto _Voltron_ was further confirmation, because she could be who she wanted and it was so radically different than the image she’d been forced into for so long.

“I’ll survive,” is all she says, and finishes it off with a heavy sigh.

Matt decides not to press her further--she’ll come to him if she wants.

Katie looks down at her phone and swipes away a tumblr notification. “You know, Tommy Lewis is guest starring this week and I think he’s on set today.”

“Who?”

“The guy from _Burning Hills_. Black hair, brown eyes, really nice.”

“The cute one?”

“The cute, gay, and _single_ one. Not that I internet stalked him.”

Matt glances around. “You? Never.”

“You know--he should be almost done with makeup by now. In like--” she checks her phone for the time “--in five minutes, actually, would you look at that. And you, my dear brother, need to go back to see Melissa and get yours fixed.”

Matt frowns. “How did you get his schedule? And my makeup is fine, I don’t--”

Before he realizes what’s happening, Katie’s hands are all over his face, smearing his makeup. He pries her off, crying: “Katieee!”

But the damage is already done.

Katie swipes a Kleenex and wipes her hands clean. Her smirk is unabashedly mischievous. “You might want to hurry. Our scene starts in twenty minutes.”

“You are _evil_ ,” Matt says, backing away from her. An eyelash has gotten into his eye and he has to blink furiously to try and get it out.

“You’ll thank me later.”

“I will _not_.”

“Tick tock.”

Matt groans and heads to the makeup trailer. He doesn’t need his fourteen year old sister playing matchmaker for him, really--he’s too busy to meet guys, anyway. And who’s to say this ‘Tommy’ would be into him in the first place? Just because he’s gay doesn’t mean they’d hit it off.

He is cute, though, if Matt remembers right.

Matt knocks on the doorframe of Melissa’s studio. “You got a minute?” he asks.

Melissa steps back from the person in her chair--who, frankly, looks like an anthropomorphic rock in his costume--and lifts her gaze to him. “What happened to your face?” she asks with a smile.

“My little sister happened.”

The makeup artist nods, laughing. “I could have guessed. Yeah, I’m almost done here. Take a wipe and try to clean up the mascara smears.”

Matt does as he’s told, and eyes the person to whom Melissa is applying the finishing touches. He can’t tell much about him under all the makeup and prosthetic work, but he thinks he recognizes him.

“Hey, you’re Katie Holt’s older brother, right?” asks Tommy.

“Stop talking,” Melissa orders.

“Sorry.”

“Apologizing still counts as talking.”

Tommy’s eyes meet Matt’s in the mirror, asking the question again. “Yeah, I am. The name’s Matt.”

The man gives him a thumbs up in lieu of moving his face at all. Melissa swirls a brush across his forehead, narrows her eyes, and then steps away from him with finality. “I’m done. You can talk now.”

“Thank you,” he says. “Good to meet you, Matt. I’m Tommy.”

Melissa shakes her head and gestures for Matt to take a seat. “No, now you’re Rax the Balmeran.”

He chuckles a little bit. “Right, sorry.”

Matt sees something of an opportunity. “That’s a shame--I was looking forward to getting to meet Tommy.”

The actor blinks. “Really?”

“I’ve heard good things,” he continues. “Maybe you could introduce me next time you see him.”

“Hold still.” Melissa places a finger under his chin to keep him from moving as she wipes away the evidence of his sister’s assault. It only takes a few moments, and then she’s dabbing finishing powder onto his newly-fixed face. “There.”

“Thanks, Melissa.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Tommy is still there, lingering in the doorway. “Could you help me figure out where I’m going? I told the intern that I could figure it out, but--I’m not so sure anymore. And I don’t want to be late.”

Matt mentally tallies the minutes he’s been gone, and how long he can spare to show this guy around.

“Yeah, I can do that.”


	6. Taking Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did someone ask for a little bit of Klance?

Sandy bursts into Katie’s dressing room without knocking, which--on second thought--may not be the greatest idea.

Luckily, she’s not in the middle of changing or anything--she’s just on her laptop, leaned back in her chair with her feet kicked up onto the vanity. It’s maybe 6:30 in the morning--a kind of early he’s used to by now--but apparently her dad has a job elsewhere on the lot today and brought her with him. When Sandy got the message in the group chat--the one with Katie, Jacob, Anthony, and himself--that she was here early, followed almost immediately by the email from their director, he had to come tell her in person.

“Sendick is Send-sick today!” he cries.

Katie sits bolt upright, sock-covered feet slamming onto the floor. In her excitement at the announcement, she doesn’t even comment on the boy’s awful pun. “He is?”

“Yes! He’s going to be out until tomorrow--Sophie’s taking all of his scenes for the day!”

Sandy can see the instant the wheels start turning in the girl’s eyes, and knows she’s up to something.

“Do you have a copy of the schedule?” Katie asks, and he immediately pulls the already-crumpled sheet of paper from his pocket. She takes it and smooths it out on the vanity in front of her, pushing her computer to one side. “Grab my script, would you? It’s in my backpack--by the door.”

“Your script?”

“Just--trust me.”

He does. Sandy brings her whole backpack over, allowing her to root through its contents for the thick binder inside. “I think you’ve still got the assistant director for most of your scenes today.”

Katie shakes her head. “I don’t care about that. I care about--ah.”

She taps at a line on the schedule and flips to a page in her script.

“Perfect,” she says with a smirk. “Sandy, did Thomas give you any more rewrites before he left for New York?”

“Um--no. Nothing since they made one of the space outlaws a girl.”

Katie’s lip curls, and Sandy knows exactly what she’s thinking. Jacob had been the one to discover the reasoning behind the change--he overheard the writer and director arguing in Cross’s office just a few hours before the rewrites were sent out last Friday. The first draft of the script for _Episode 6: Taking Flight_ had found the team running into a pair of brothers and their droid, who swindled Lance out of the Blue Lion and tried to hand it over to the Galra. But--and this is the part that Jacob told the rest of them--Sendick got wind of people shipping Lance and Keith and went _ballistic_. Jacob swore that he couldn’t repeat some of the words he heard the director saying because they were too vile.

Needless to say, after that Cross felt the need to reaffirm his characters’ heterosexuality, and had made Thomas rewrite one of the brothers into a girl alien to be Lance’s love interest, if only for an episode.

When Sandy had delivered the news to the casting department, they’d grumbled and said that there was no way they could get a big name to fill in the new place on such short notice. Sandy figured that was okay, so long as they found someone who could act. Besides, they already have Justin Weber playing Rolo, so it isn’t like they need any more star power in this episode.

Katie drums her fingers on the vanity. “Do you have an editable version of the script saved to your tablet?”

“Editable?” Sandy frowns. “There’s no way a lowly high school kid who works the snack table would have one of those--”

“Sandy.”

He sighs deeply and reaches into his portfolio to pull out the studio-issued tablet, taps in his password, and opens up a document. “But you didn’t get this from me.”

Katie snatches the tablet from his hand, smiling broadly. “I think that maybe there are some rewrites that need to go out for today after all.”

“Katie, you can’t--”

“It’s nothing major,” she reasons, scrolling at lightning speed. “Just one line. And everything is going to be so crazy today with Cross and Thomas both gone, no one will be able to trace it back to us. And there won’t be time to refilm so they’ll either have to leave it in or cut the whole scene--”

“Hold on, what are you even changing?” Sandy leans over her shoulder and reads a few of the words there. Katie’s fingers move deftly over the screen.

“Not nearly as much as I’d like to.” She pulls up the print queue and sends ten copies of scene two to the printer before reverting the script back to its original form. “But we gotta throw the fandom a bone so they don’t get discouraged by all this Nyma business. Sendick may want to erase Keith and Lance’s teamwork, but some of us will never forget.”

“I’m still not following.” Sandy looks down at the tablet, now back in his hands since Katie is done with it.

“They had a bonding moment, Sandy,” she says with mock-seriousness. “Keith cradled Lance in his arms.”

___

One of the work-study high school kids who usually works the snack table stops Keith on his way to film his first scene. “Last minute rewrites from Thomas,” he says, handing Keith three sheets of paper.

“More rewrites?” Keith asks, glancing down at the paper in his hands.

The boy takes the beanie off his head and scratches at fuzzy black hair. Keith forgets his name, but it’s something like Aaron or Austin. “It’s not much. Just a few lines for scene two.”

Scene two? That’s where Lance is eating after getting out of the cryopod and Pidge tells the team she’s a girl. He doesn’t know what they could have changed.

“Okay, thanks,” Keith says, folding the paper in half and sticking it inside his jacket. He’ll read them later, when he’s not rushing to get to the set.

The boy looks slightly apprehensive about something, but Keith isn’t good enough friends with him to ask what. Surely it’s nothing related to the script changes, which means it’s probably none of his business, anyway. So he says nothing as the kid puts the beanie back on his head and ducks away to distribute the rewrites to the rest of the affected cast members.

Anthony. That’s his name. Though the information is useless to him now, and he’ll probably forget by the next time they come in contact. Keith isn’t good with names--it took him almost until filming started for the last movie he was in to remember his costar’s name. That was kind of embarrassing, considering they were supposed to be in love.

But that’s behind him now, so it doesn’t matter.

Keith joins the huddle of actors waiting for direction just off to one side of the set, which looks like some sort of lunar landscape with a campfire and part of a ship. Someone in set-crew black is fidgeting with a remote-control robot at the center of the set.

The cast is almost fully assembled--all of the paladins and Allura, and one of the guest stars for this episode. The only person left is the new girl.

“This stuff is itchy as hell--can’t they just greenscreen it on me instead?” complains a man in full-body costume. This must be the alien renegade the team encounters on their way back to the Balmera. The actor is supposed to be some famous singer or something, but Keith doesn’t listen to mainstream music and has no idea who he is.

“We’re not that high-budget,” Katie responds, looking more than slightly annoyed at the man. “And stop picking at the edges, or we’ll all get stuck here longer because you have to have your prosthetics reapplied.”

The man turns on her and narrows his eyes, hands not moving away from the peeling edge of his chestpiece. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

“Justin,” Shiro interrupts. “Katie’s just trying to save us all some work.”

“Yeah, whatever. Anyone know what time lunch is?”

“It’s on your schedule,” Katie offers, crossing her arms and looking around for somewhere else to be. Keith can sense the distaste between the pair, and wonders if they’ve met before.

“Twelve-thirty for us,” a woman says as she walks up, and Keith knows this must be their last actor for this scene. Here makeup and prosthetics are even more involved than Justin’s--ruby red contact lenses, forearm and ear pieces, and something on her head that look like ponytails but are certainly not made of hair. Her costume leaves the character’s purpose unquestionable: alien eye candy.

Keith had been surprised--much like the rest of the cast--to get the rewrites on Friday. Major changes to an episode aren’t unusual for their writing team, but a complete character replacement has never happened before.

“Thanks, babe,” says Justin, watching the actress’s every move and seemingly distracted from his spat with Katie.

“It’s Kelsey,” the woman responds.

“Alright everyone, places for the top of the scene,” Sophie calls. The actors file onto the set, and Keith allows himself to be pointed to his starting place. He doesn’t have any lines in this scene, but still has to be there as part of team Voltron.

Keith watches the proceedings with mild interest. He puts himself into character while they’re shooting, of course, but other than that there isn’t much else for him to do.

It takes longer to do the scene than expected. At least part of it is Justin’s fault; he’s not a bad actor, but he doesn’t take directions well.

But more than that--Lance is off his game today.

It might be that he hasn’t practiced the rewritten lines enough, but it’s not that he forgets the words. His delivery is lacking. The normally-suave Lance’s movements are wooden and his dialogue is forced, enough so that they have to redo the scene several times. It strikes Keith as odd, because shouldn’t Lance be in his element? He’s mentioned more than a few times how great he is at flirting. But seeing him now, pretending to be infatuated with a pretty alien, leaves Keith nonplussed.

But not jealous.

That would be silly.

Justin approaches him during one of their breaks. “Keith, you seem like a pretty chill dude,” he says, picking at his newly-reattached prosthetic. Melissa has had to glue it back in place three times just this morning, and Keith resists the urge to slap the man’s hand away from his costume.

“Sure,” he says instead.

“I’m looking for a few more guys to be part of my crew at a party this weekend--you interested?”

Keith screws the lid off his water bottle and takes a drink.

“You won’t get carded if you’re with me, and there’s gonna be loads of hot girls. Plus--ah--the good stuff, if you know what I mean.” Justin lifts his eyebrows to emphasize the significance of “the good stuff.”

Nothing in that list of incentives is even remotely appealing to Keith, so he just shrugs and says, “I’m busy this weekend, but thanks for the offer.”

The look of offense on Justin’s face makes it obvious that he isn’t used to being turned down. Keith swears he hears him whisper something along the lines of “fucking lame, anyway” as he walks off in search of better company.

Keith figures it’s time to find some of that as well.

He pulls out his phone.

_New Snapchat: SirLanceIsHot_

Keith smiles.

___

Lance hangs around after everyone else has left, and there are no cars in the lot other than the overnight staff and one motorcycle. He could pretend he doesn’t know why he's still here, almost an hour after he finished filming, but he’d be lying to himself.

“My car’s still in the shop,” Lance says at the doorway to Keith’s trailer. “Do you mind giving me a ride home?”

Keith looks over to him from his seat at the vanity. He has a headband on to keep the hair out of his face while he wipes his makeup away, and Lance has to swallow down a comment about it. Whether it would have been a joke or admitting how freaking _cute_ he is--well, that's anyone's guess.

“How did you get here all last week?” he asks, flinging a used towelette into the trash and reaching for another.

Lance scratches the back of his head. “I've been getting a ride from Coran. But he has company tonight and I didn't want to intrude. And--no offense to the guy, he's great and all--his cologne gives me a headache and his music is really weird.”

Keith considers. “And what if I say no?”

His stomach sinks. “I call a cab and have to take a twenty minute shower when I get home.”

“Just twenty minutes?”

“I don't like to waste water,” Lance shoots back at Keith’s reflection. He's wearing black jeans and a red tank top, too much like his character to be coincidental but not enough for Lance to call him out on it. “I'm trying to save the world, my dude, and conserving water is an essential part of that. I take _five_ minute showers, thank you very much.”

Keith raises both his eyebrows--to which Lance responds by raising one and earning a scowl from his costar--and says, “If you were really trying to cut down on pollution you'd take public transportation instead of driving.”

“But then I'd be taking long showers every day.”

Instead of responding, Keith pulls the headband off, drops it on the vanity in front of him, and stands. He reaches around to unplug his phone and charger from a powerstrip along the wall, and then puts it in his pocket.

Lance shifts. “So?”

Keith looks up. “So what?”

“So… can I have a ride home?”

Keith pauses with one arm in his leather jacket. “Oh. Yeah. Of course. You can take my extra jacket--the one over there.” He points to a more beaten-up version of his coat, hung over the back of a recliner in the corner of his trailer. Lance’s head swims with relief as he step further inside and lifts the jacket from the chair.

He tries not to hesitate before slipping the jacket on over his t-shirt--tries not to think about how many times Keith has probably worn this jacket, how much he probably loves it, and how he’s letting Lance wear it even if only for safety reasons.

“Ready?” Keith asks, glancing over at Lance. His eyes dart down Lance’s body and back up, and Lance hopes that he doesn’t look too weird in a baggy leather jacket over leggings and running shorts. Keith, on the other hand, looks like a badass and it’s stupidly distracting.

Lance slides his cell phone into the pocket at his side. “Yeah.”

Keith shuts off the lights as they leave, and shuts the door behind them. As they walk through the empty lot, Lance thinks about the ride Keith gave him to the Holt’s house a week and a half ago--and the resulting press from it. Very few of the articles Lance had encountered implied anything, but regardless, Lance still wonders if Keith keeps up on the news about himself and the show.

He wonders what he would think if he did.

“Filming was great today without Sendick around,” Lance says, rolling his shoulders around to get used to the feel of a heavy jacket on them. He doesn’t normally wear long sleeves if he doesn’t have to.

Keith snorts. “You can say that again. I don’t think we got yelled at _once._ ”

“I wanted to yell at Justin a few times, though--is he coming back tomorrow?”

“I think so,” answers Keith, and Lance groans. “That guy invited me to a party this weekend--even tried to sweeten the deal with girls and drugs.”

“Did you accept?”

“No. It’s not really my kind of scene, you know? Either way, I think he hates me now.”

They reach Keith’s bike, and Lance stands aside while the other man pulls out his keys and gets the extra helmet from underneath his seat. He accepts it from Keith’s outstretched hand and pushes it down over his head. The smudged plastic visor makes Keith just a touch harder to see in the relative dark of the parking lot.

Neither of them comments about Kelsey, mostly because she’s much better to work with than Justin, but maybe also because of the utter lack of chemistry between her and Lance. He isn’t ashamed, exactly, but he isn’t pleased. Adding Nyma as a character felt forced to Lance from the moment he picked up the rewrites, and that truly affected his work today.

The bike engine revs up, and Lance shouts over it: “Do you remember the way to my house?”

“I’ve got GPS,” Keith replies, tapping dashboard in front of him, to which his phone is now firmly affixed. He must have kept the address Lance gave him last time in his recent searches, because the route is already pulled up on his phone.

Keith climbs onto the bike, and Lance gives him a moment to situate himself before swinging his leg over the seat and settling in behind him. He tightens his hold as Keith nudges up the kickstand and the bike glides forward.

They can’t exactly speed through the streets of Hollywood, because even this late the traffic is pretty heavy and there are, technically, speed limits. Even so, Keith can weave through stopped traffic to the front of a line at a stop light, and they go fast enough that the wind cuts through Lance’s leggings and chills his legs.

It doesn’t take long to get to Lance’s apartment compared to the commute in a car. Keith slows to a stop in a parking spots and lets the bike idle while Lance climbs off.

Lance removes his helmet and holds it in his hands. “Have you eaten dinner yet?” he asks over the sound of the engine.

Keith shakes his head.

“I’ll make you a grilled cheese,” Lance offers, then adds quickly: “As payment for the ride home.”

The engine cuts off, and the rumble is replaced by the sounds of the city at night. Keith knocks the kickstand down and gets off the motorcycle, unclipping his helmet and pulling it off his head.

“Nice hat head,” Lance comments, and reaches over to muss up Keith’s hair.

The man ducks out of the way and takes care of it himself. He accepts the extra helmet from Lance and stores it under the seat. “I could say the same for you,” he shoots back.

“My hair is _perfect_ ,” Lance says with certainty, leading Keith up the stairs into the apartment building. He punches in the entry code and holds open the door for his guest. “I live on the third floor. We can take the elevator if you want, but it smells like cigarette smoke and Chinese takeout.”

“The stairs are fine,” says Keith. “You know, I would have pegged you for a penthouse kind of guy.”

Lance walks along one side of the stairwell so there's room for Keith next to him. “Nah. I don't spend enough time at home to warrant anything fancy. And what about you--you live life in the high risers?”

“I rent a place with three other actors trying to make it big.” His words come out detached enough that Lance knows none of them can be considered close friends.

“They bitter you've caught the fame train?”

Keith laughs wryly as Lance pulls out his keys and slides the appropriate one into the lock on his door. “Only a little. Depending on the day, I'm either stealing their chance or going to get their foot in the door with whatever show they're trying out for.”

“Yikes.” Lance pushes open the door and steps inside, trusting Keith to follow his example and take his shoes off in the entryway. He takes off the jacket as well, but instead of tossing it on the floor, he hangs it over the back of a kitchen chair.

Lance’s apartment isn't anything fancy. Rent in this area is too high for a lot of space, but he's lucky enough that what he has is open. The entryway spits out into a long room, one side of which is the kitchen and the other the living room. He has a couch and a small table with two chairs as furniture, and enough counter space on either side of the stove and sink that he manages to cover it with clutter almost constantly. His bedroom and bathroom branch away from the living room, and he has a closet for storage--laundry facilities are downstairs.

“You can sit anywhere,” Lance says, reaching into the refrigerator for a block of cheese and some butter. He's glad he actually did the dishes recently because, even though he's generally a very clean person, with his schedule at the studio some things have been getting out of hand.

He pulls a knife from the block and slices off some butter to melt in the pan.

Keith leans against the counter next to the stove instead of taking a chair. He's removed his jacket and draped it over the same chair as the one he lent to Lance, and Lance watches Keith’s now-bared arms and shoulders as he waits for the butter to melt.

“There's a loaf of bread in the cupboard behind your head,” Lance says, gesturing vaguely in its direction. “I hope you like sourdough.”

Keith retrieves the bread and lays it on the counter next to him. He twists the plastic bag open and pulls out four slices. “Sourdough is fine.”

The sound of sizzling butter fills their silence.

“What was up with the rewrites today, huh?” Lance asks. He lays two of the bread slices down in the pan. “I’m getting really mixed messages from the writers. First they write in Nyma, and then they gives us lines like ‘I cradled you in my arms’--it doesn’t make any sense.”

Keith frowns and watches Lance flip the bread over to its other side. “Mixed messages?”

“Like, obviously they were trying to prove something by making one of the space brothers a girl and having my character fall all over her--but why change your line in scene two? It’ll have exactly the opposite effect.”

Lance checks the time on the stove against the one on his phone. It’s well after 10PM and he almost regrets hanging around the lot for so long because his call tomorrow is _early_.

“I’m still not following,” Keith says. He’s cute when he’s confused, Lance thinks against his better judgement. His eyebrows scrunch up and he blinks more often than usual. “What were they trying to prove?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, our director is a homophobic asshole,” Lance starts. Keith nods because, yes, they all know that by now. “And--uh--there’s a certain portion of the internet--well, of the fandom that's very active _on_ the internet, that ships… us. Er--our characters, I mean. So Cross heard about that and got really mad and wrote in Nyma to prove my character was straight,” he finishes quickly.

Keith says nothing, and Lance worries he’s gone too far. He wonders how Keith would react if he’d said the whole truth--that more than their characters, fans ship _them_. It’s partially his fault--he could have stamped out the rumors that arose from his motorcycle ride with Keith last week--but also he gets the idea that the shipping began long before Lance was even aware of it. There’s a blog on tumblr that is seemingly run by someone on set that _champions_ the pairing and, well, Keith probably isn’t ready to hear about that yet.

The silence stretches on a little longer than Lance would like. “I'm sorry if that's weird for you,” he says to save the situation. “I know some people get uncomfortable if fans ship them in non-het pairings.”

Keith laughs a little, almost nervously, as Lance lays strips of cheese down onto the bread. “Why, do you have a problem with it?”

“ _Pfft!_ ” Lance scoffs. “Hell no. My bi ass doesn’t care who I get to kiss so long as I get to kiss someone.”

The words are out of his mouth before he can stop himself. That he’s bisexual--whatever, it’s better that Keith knows that if he’s _ever_ going to have a chance with him, but why did he have to go and mention _kissing_ ? That’s a one way ticket to the cute boy leaving your apartment because that’s something you just _don’t talk about_ , at least not like this.

Lance folds one of the pieces of toast down onto the other and begs to the Lord--his best wingman--that Keith doesn’t find an excuse to excuse himself.

“I see,” Keith says. He uncrosses his arms and plays with a loose thread along the bottom of his tank top. “But not Kelsey?”

He turns the sandwich over, thinking that okay, this could be going worse. “Oh--well, the show’s a special situation. With Kelsey--or Nyma, really--I know they put her in specifically to prove that if I liked a girl alien I couldn’t like boys too and I just--I can’t reconcile myself with that. You know?”

Keith nods. “Yeah, I guess. And it’s not like you ever kiss Nyma, anyway. So.”

“Yeah.” Lance slides the sandwich off the pan and onto a plate, and drops another sliver of butter onto the hot surface.

“I think that I could do it,” Keith continues. His dark grey eyes are trained at the refrigerator across from him, so Lance steals a moment to look at the man, appreciate him, before turning back to the grilled cheese.

“Do what?”

“Kiss a girl for a part.”

Lance frowns. “Have you… not done that before?”

“No. None of the stuff I’ve been in has really called for it.” Keith leaves the hem of his shirt alone and crosses his arms, shifting against the counter so he’s angled a little bit more toward Lance.

“Wow. That’s rare. What about off-screen?”

Now it’s Keith’s turn to scoff. “I’m too gay for that.”

Lance has to resist the urge to start dancing in the middle of his kitchen because hell to the _yes_ he hasn’t been hitting on a straight guy for the last five weeks.

“I see,” he says instead. “Katie owes me twenty bucks.”

“You bet on whether or not I was gay?” Keith asks, dumbfounded. He hands Lance the other two slices of bread to lay down in the pan.

“Of course not. We bet on who you would tell first.” Before Keith can respond--and before he can think too hard about his own words--Lance continues, heart beating faster than he would like: “And because I’m winning bets tonight, are you single?”

The words hang in the air for a moment before they’re snatched away by the sound of toasting bread. “Why would you--who bet on that?”

No one. Literally no one other than Lance is invested in Keith’s relationship status, except maybe Hunk because Lance pledged fifty that he would bang Keith by the end of the season--but Keith doesn’t need to know that. “Sorry. I’m not at liberty to say. Well?”

“Yes. I am.”

Lance carefully guards his expression, trying not to let too much of his excitement slip. “Hmm. Indeed.”

“So did you bet for or against it?” Keith’s cheeks are a little red and _damn_ , it’s cute.

“I’m not at liberty to say,” Lance repeats. “Now eat your sandwich before it gets cold.”

The other actor looks down at the grilled cheese--beautifully made, in Lance’s impartial opinion--and bites his lip. “Yeah, I can’t eat that. I’m lactose intolerant.”

Lance nearly drops his spatula. “What--I can’t--why the hell would you come up here for grilled cheese if you can’t even eat it?”

Keith shrugs. “I thought I had my Lactaid with me. And it seemed rude to refuse.”

“I can’t believe you. You come into _my house--_ ”

“I’ll take the sourdough toast though.” Keith points to the pan, apparently coming to the conclusion that the butter won’t be enough to do whatever lactose does to someone who’s lactose intolerant. “You can have the sandwich.”

Lance narrows his eyes and turns off the stove. “I’m wounded, Keith. I can never recover from this. Do you at least want jam or something?”

“Just the toast is fine.”

“Wounded.”

“Whatever.”

Lance plops the toast down onto another plate and picks up his grilled cheese, taking out an angry bite. “This sandwich is _delicious_ , I will have you know, and you’re missing out.”

“I’m sure it is.” Keith’s phone buzzes and he pulls it out of his pocket. Then he sighs and tears a paper towel from the roll by the microwave. As he wraps up his toast, he says: “I’ve got to go--one of my roommates is locked out and no one else will be back tonight. So, uh, thanks for the toast.”

“Any time,” Lance responds, feeling slightly deflated. He wasn’t sure where he wanted tonight to end, but it certainly wasn’t here.

Keith picks the jackets up off the chair and slides the shoes onto his feet. “Do you maybe want a ride in the morning? We have the same call time, so I could just swing by and pick you up.”

For a half-second, Lance forgets how to chew. “Yeah. Yes. Please. I would really like that.”

“Cool.” Keith is smiling a little bit, and Lance wants to think it’s because of him. “Be outside by six.”

Lance smiles back at him. “I’ll see you then.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yo! Thanks for reading, friends! I just wanted to let you all know that this fic will follow the first season of Voltron with a chapter for each episode, and perhaps the last one split into two chapters if I need it to wrap things up.
> 
> This *is* a work-in-progress fic, but it's also my purely-for-enjoyment fic which means one very important thing for you: if you have suggestions/headcanons for this AU, I would *love* for you to leave them for me in the comments and I can try to write them in.
> 
> Comments and Kudos are always appreciated! You can find me on tumblr @probably-somewhere and go to my author page here on AO3 for my other Voltron works. Catch you later!


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